


Kallistei

by inkystars



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkystars/pseuds/inkystars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Great Gatsby AU. It's been a decade since Kurt Hummel has seen or heard from his first love, Blaine Anderson. And on the brink of thirty, he's doing quite well for himself--a head writer at Vogue.com, engaged to one of the richest men on the island of Manhattan, planning the wedding of the year. But that doesn't stop the curiosity he feels at night when he looks across Central Park to see the lights of extravagant parties raging every weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So if you follow me, you should know my views and opinions of Season 4 in general. I guess that this fic is sort of my response to it as a whole (which is why some commentary on the season creeps into the plot).

 

(cover by magicalplaylist on tumblr)

**Chapter 1:**  

On the iconic island of Manhattan, there are dozens of neighborhoods, each with its own preconceived notions when it comes to their various inhabitants. Little less could be expected of one of the world’s top cities. It was quite amazing to witness the instant snap-judgments made by those inquiring the living locations of their new acquaintances--occupation, income, marital status, sexuality, oddities--just from the couple words uttered of which neighborhood on-island (or, god forbid, _off_ ). 

One such neighborhood, for example, was the Upper East Side, a neighborhood so prestigious in its wealth that it took the trio of improper nouns comprised of its name, took them to finishing school, debuted them in high society and made them proper forevermore. It was where the elite lived, those who were rich not only in money but in blood, a club so exclusive that the only way in was if your great great great grandfather went to preschool with your neighbor’s respective ancestor. 

Or, more commonly, if you married into such a family.

That was the designs of one Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, a man so entrenched in designs that the very wind which whistled around his head whilst he walked seemed to draw up schematics from latest fashion trends to the ruby count at the jewelers to the layout of the subway. He was nothing like any of the Upper East Siders. Indeed, his heritage was from a blue collar family in the Middle-Of-Nowhere, Ohio. 

His fiance was quite another matter. Nathan van der Geld was wildly known across the island for being one of the most handsome faces to grace the city papers for the past decade, which is odd since most would agree that his wealth far exceeded his aesthetic appearance. His family was one that had seemingly lived in the Upper East Side since it was carved out of the ground, money so old that most of their wealth was kept in gold. 

The man himself was tied up in banks and stock, for his family had taught him to stick close to wealth--it was the only thing assured in the world.

Kurt on the other hand was a writer. Not one of novels or such, but a columnist. He wrote for the illustrious Vogue.com, a weekly portion commenting on the latest trends in fashion and where they could best be seen throughout society--the parties to attend, venues to go to, boutiques to shop in, edibles to order and all such things. He was, as priorly stated, a man of design, but even more so a man in-the-now. His business was to know everyone and everything.

And so nothing intrigued him more when it was much past midnight and he’d be unable to sleep each night, every weekend, so he’d go out of his studio balcony in the large apartment that Nathan owned, and would sit against the ledge and look out over the park, mind whirring at the bright lights that would emit from the Upper West Side. 

Because every weekend on the Upper West Side, somewhere around the mid-70s streets and Amsterdam Avenue, there was always an extravagant party.

Kurt would puzzle at it from his balcony, wondering why his office had never gotten wind of it, yet not wanting to tell anyone about it either. He wanted it to be his little secret, his little mystery that no one else from his world knew about. Not even Nathan. Nathan wouldn’t understand. His world was of numbers and deals and the occasional sly turn-of-hand. Kurt knew that the mystery of an opulent yet exclusive soiree would only cause him to investigate--he had no idea of the subtly fragile nature it held.

Some nights, Kurt dreamed of attending one of the parties. But each night he convinced himself that he could enjoy it better this way, from the balcony, as he gazed across the silent park to the mirage of lights. And it was on those nights, he let himself dwell on the events of the past and the decisions that had led to where he was at that particular moment.

And it was moments like those when he’d looked up at the scarcely-seen constellations, blocked by the light-screen that the island provided, and wonder.

Such a small thing, wondering. So much more open-ended than dreaming. Because wondering doesn’t have a point to focus on. It’s just a stream of conscious that Kurt would let run through his head, personified by the faint arm of the Milky Way galaxy that he could make out.

***

Kurt was a morning person, as was Nathan. It was one of the things about them that worked. 

They’d rise together and take separate showers to optimize time. Kurt would remind Nathan of their later commitments in the day as Nathan would grab his coat and head out to the office. Then Kurt would grab his bag and ride in the secondary town car to his building, getting coffee at the cafe on the same block before heading up.

His workday was an endless stream of media and fashion designs and party invitations and runway drama and he kept up with it in order to do his piece. 

Various coworkers would pop in to either complain or gossip or congratulate him on his engagement--all of which he had sufficient replies for except the latter, which he was still caught off-guard about. 

He and Nathan had met seven months prior at a party that he’d had to attend for work, and they’d had a conversation about the worth of a spectacular gold brooch on display.

Every night after Nathan had taken him out in a very conservatively New York fashion, which Kurt had allowed due to the depressingly small dating pool that he’d been able to participate in since moving to New York City for the first time.

And when three weeks ago Nathan proposed over the same restaurant they’d been to the majority of the time, over champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, Kurt had accepted.

Nathan was respectable, connected, and from a good family, and they worked well together. It was the logical decision.

Besides. Kurt had always said that he’d be married by thirty.

Well...legally.

***

Borderline melancholy violins played steadfast and crackling from the record player in the corner as Kurt sat at the dining table, drinking his seventh glass of red wine as he stared at his cold dinner and the candles that had once filled the room with clean silver-gold light but were now yellowy-gold as they’d burned down to sculpturesque stubs. 

Another thirty-seven minutes passed before Nathan called. His voice was sort of breathless but it also had an eerie calm to it, if that could be believed. 

“I’m sorry, Kurt. I’m still caught up with work. Don’t wait up any longer for me.”

Kurt stared at the clock, which read one forty-two in the morning. “Alright.” He said it in a tone that was both polite and flat, hoping to convey his feelings, but knowing that Nathan would never interpret.

The line went dead.

There had been a time when Kurt would yell at him for working late and canceling at absurd hours when Nathan would get mad if Kurt’d so much as be two minutes late due to traffic. But the arguments over what kept Nathan so occupied late at night were circular and led only to headaches in the morning and counterproductive grudges, so Kurt learned. He adapted. He didn’t question. He swept it under the rug. It was something that he could live with.

That was what he repeated to himself on that night, but for some reason he couldn’t fully stomach it. 

He was hurt and upset. If Nathan planned a date (which would always be one of three extravagant restaurants of his own choosing), he’d always arrive on time and he’d expect Kurt to show the same courtesy. When Kurt would plan, however (which would either be at a restaurant or at home), Nathan would make it most of the time, but it was a far more variable event for him.

Kurt attempted to look on the bright side--at least he wasn’t left sitting alone at a restaurant this time.

But his usual failsafes in this situation that he so heavily relied upon were not working, and he found himself distraught and angry. His heart beat harshly against his chest as he blinked back tears, not wanting the hot tracks to streak down his already-red face. 

And so Kurt grabbed his coat and went down the elevator, nodding to Simon, the guard at the front desk, before pushing open the doors sharply and letting the cold night air snap around him as he crossed Park Avenue. 

The lights on the Upper East Side were dim on that Friday night, and he needed time to properly think through his thoughts, so he headed to the park.

Kurt had always had mixed feelings about Central Park at night. It both seemed daringly romantic and horrifically dangerous, so he had a tendency for rarely going during the witching hour.

But as he walked through the darkened paths, he was bitterly disappointed to feel the boredom of his situation creep in. Briefly, his mind flickered to a different time, a younger him, who would attempt to burst into song to remedy the situation. But it had been a long ten years since he’d been that boy in a high school glee club.

The lamps that lit the path grew scarce as he continued with the twisting blackness of the fairytale forest that had somehow landed in the middle of a concrete jungle, like when a smaller, utterly unrelated book slips in between the pages of a far vaster one--you can’t help but wonder how it even got there in the first place. One would assume that the reader was reading the smaller book under the guise of reading the larger one, then closed it unexpectedly when called away, but leaving the two intertwined.

Kurt wondered briefly if that was how Central Park had been created--under the guise of something else entirely but managing to fit in oddly because of a twist of the unexpected.

It was that moment that he stumbled across the Bow Bridge and had his own twist of the unexpected. He looked up to find the lights of the Upper West Side party closer than he’d ever seen them. That in itself was some sort of accomplishment and confirmation. A small part of him had always wondered whether or not his mind was merely making up the party due to sheer utter boredom.

A large part of him wanted to turn around and go back to his apartment. This was sacred ground he was treading on, but worst yet it was his own sacred ground. He held this unknown party at such high standards that they’d be impossible to meet in the reality that he’d become so acquainted with in the past ten years.

But a much smaller part urged him to go forward into this unknown, to take the plunge so to speak. And he wanted to. There were few moments in Kurt Hummel’s life when he’d desperately wanted things and this easily made the top three. If he lied to himself, he could even believe that it was the thing he wanted most in life.

On the Bow Bridge, Kurt Hummel made his decision as he walked forward to the lights of the Upper West Side Party. That small piece of him drove forward eagerly and with a cautious optimism that he hadn’t felt in quite a few years. Though the fear of mediocrity and fallen standards lingered around his knees and chest and fingertips and the area between the tip of his tongue and the breath that hung in the air when he exhaled, he highly doubted that he could be let down more than he already had in one night. 

He crossed the bridged, the stars twinkling down their approval and the Upper East Side watching him warily from behind. 

***

One particular skill that Kurt Hummel prized himself on in particular was his way with words--indeed, it was pertinent to have a vast lexicon when one was a columnist. And Kurt was excellent at picking out the best words to describe any situation with a sort of panache and classy style that addicted his readers and always made them come back for more. 

But as he walked from Amsterdam Avenue across that inexplicable area where Amsterdam, Verdi, and Broadway all collided into one mesh and tangle of streets, through Verdi Square and up to 73rd Street and Broadway, the northwest corner of which held the building where the party was raging, up on the top floors--a most curious thing happened.

It was here that Kurt’s own lexicon failed him. Because there wasn’t a single word--not party nor soiree nor bash nor spectacle nor even extravaganza--that could describe the sheer epic opulence and utterly pure imaginative drive that he saw before him.

Crowds of people were pouring into the building, and the rich lights flashed from the top levels as he saw others dancing about recklessly, even from below on the street, and Kurt Hummel was struck breathless.

And that was just the outside view.

Kurt attempted to speak to his fellow socialites who were crowding into the building to at least inquire about what he was precisely getting himself into, but it was for naught as he was dragged in on a wave of excitement, shredded class, and a low beat that only intensified once he was crammed into one of the eight elevators with a host of people. 

The elevator itself was cause for a mental note in his mind. Utterly gold and glistening, throwing off color of women’s jewels and pearls and sequined dresses. Reflecting tie clips and cuff links and wing tips and cigar cutters. 

In that moment, Kurt felt woefully underdressed in his simple suit that was only embellished by a little white-gold star pin that his boss Isabelle had given him as an engagement present.

The bodies thrummed and vibrated around him in anticipation, smokey laughs and bright eyes (or was it bright laughs and smokey eyes?) blurring the air with what was to come as the arrow climbed steadily higher to the top floors.

Finally the elevator let out a chime-like ping and Kurt found himself swept along with the rush as the hoard jammed out of the elevator into the spectacle presented.

Twangy eighties instrumental pop blasted through the air of the sea foam colored room, the music weaving in and out of copper sequins and thin white trees and gold delicate flowers and sheer silver billowing drapes. They twirled through the halls, alcohol appearing seemingly out of nowhere, Kurt finding a glass of pink champagne filled with cream rose petals and succulently plump raspberries shoved unceremoniously into his hands. 

The crowd chattered excitedly as they came into a wide open space centered completely around a large frothy seashell fountain in the middle of the room that spouted improbably complex designs of water into the air, inter-looping arms of water weaving around each other in frothy opaque delight. 

Dancers whirled around in the falling petal and glitter, giggling madly as the party throbbed. Dresses from all eras, any costume imaginable, classy suits and the scantily clad--all flashed quickly before Kurt’s eyes. Even the drabbest of fabrics was turned rich just by proximity.

It was a form of utter luxury that Kurt had yet to come across in his dealings with the elite during his time as a columnist. It wasn’t the elegant glamorous parties that he usually attended that dripped with old money and Tiffany’s and the simultaneous reluctance and urgency to spill all known secrets--nay, rather it held a life and vitality that the other parties lacked--pure imagination. 

Chandeliers were drenched in shells and tinsel. The clear windows with their stained glass accents shivered in delight from the thrumming music. 

The distinct scent of the place was of clean laundry. Not the stereotypical clean laundry smell that companies promote, but that kind that everyone knows--when your mother doesn’t buy any fancy sort of detergent and uses the run of the mill brand that everyone else does. But that smell... That smell when you open the dryer door while she’s busy setting up the iron and that smell just washes over you and smells far too good and you bury your face deep into the clothes and inhale deeply again and again and again and you’ve never really understood the appeal of drugs but oh if drugs could be like the smell of fresh laundry then you’d be out of income faster than the automatic washer door could fall shut.

Because in that moment, in the warm embrace of fabric as your nostrils go haywire--you are utterly ashamedly but unabashedly addicted.

That was the scent that fired through Kurt’s brain as he gazed around, suddenly punch-drunk with it and the delicate accents of apple blossoms and almond oatmeal soap and ginger, affecting him even more so than the delightful champagne. The combined elements made Kurt want to just close his eyes, giggle, and get swept up with the dancing right there and then.

It was the very best sort of dream that he could ever hope to imagine.

***

For an hour, Kurt was lost.

He let the current pull him this way and that, drinking champagne then eating sugar-spun mini desserts and at some point he was pretty sure he was gnawing on a flower made of frozen honey. The music throbbed through the place, jumping over decades and swinging through genres and dipping Kurt’s brain extravagantly over a dance floor like a sultry tango. The people popped and glittered like fireworks, shooting towards him suddenly and exploding in light and delight before fizzling off and letting another take its place.

Moving from room to room, from wonder to spectacle to rarity, he was spun up in chatter of all varieties except one--the host.

Jamming into another room, the sound of a woman singing filled his ears. The voice was a rasp that you wanted to take home and have fantastically sweaty sex with and then sit with it in front of the fireplace with velvet smoking jackets, Cuban cigars, and a glass of scotch. 

The woman that the voice was attached to was leaning against a piano in a sleek red wine satin dress, black pearls dripping from her throat and long black hair thrown back as she let her throat wail the last note. 

It was Santana Lopez, renowned lounge singer on the island, old high school classmate, and the most terrifying woman that Kurt Hummel had ever had the pleasure of making acquaintance with.

Anna Wintour included.

Her eyes opened after and sought out Kurt, sparkling with recognition. “Hummel!”

Kurt found himself being crushed against her willowy frame. “Santana! Hi! What...”

“Urgh, I haven’t seen you in so long,” she rolled her eyes. “You should’ve stayed in touch. Berry does. I can’t get rid of her, it’s ridiculous. She’ll be in London doing a show then she’ll call be up and gab on and on about something or other that I honestly don’t care about.”

“Wow, that’s great,” Kurt blinked. After he’d dropped out of NYADA when Vogue offered him a better and very permanent offer, he’d moved in with two coworkers and had lost touch with Rachel and Santana and most things outside of the fashion world.

“I have to sing again,” she said, shaking her hair back behind her shoulders before her eyes widened and she frowned suddenly. “But hey, have you seen B--”

“Santana!”

She turned as another woman stole her away and Kurt was left alone again.

***

The party itself seemed to beat into Kurt’s skin like a drug, and it was then that he knew that he needed fresh air. He climbed spiral staircases intertwined with glass vines as he uncovered the layers of the soiree before one eventually led him up to a little trapdoor that he pushed his way through, fingers lingering briefly on the grain of the wood.

He stepped up into what seemed to be a little greenhouse. Myrtle grew in clumps and gardenias and jasmine danced as they twisted together and what looked like an apple tree--but surely couldn’t be because of its golden fruit--grew in a corner.

Kurt closed the trapdoor, muffling the sound of the party as he walked through the little house, head craned up to stare at the stars through the clear glass ceiling. 

It was one of those nights that was especially clear in a way that never really seemed to be achieved again in its clarity, and the stars shown back clearly through the clear roof and the air was clear of the party’s sensations and Kurt’s mind was clear of any though and in that little greenhouse on top of a party on top of a building on top of an island on top of a world, there was an incredible sense of utter peace.

Kurt walked forward to the fruit tree, staring at it curiously. He’d thought it a rare breed of oranges or perhaps grapefruit because of the color, but the skin was hard to the touch, not soft... The leaves were a dark green and slightly waxy and despite the fruit on the tree, there were also flowers blooming around it, letting off a slightly heady scent that made Kurt giggle once before shutting his mouth in surprise. 

So enraptured was he by the plant that he did not hear the trap door open behind him and someone walked up.

“I cultivated them myself,” a low voice said from across the room.

Kurt turned sharply, his fingernail scratching one of the fruits accidentally. Unbidden, his breath rushed up through his throat but was pulled back sharply by his heart.

Hair slicked back evenly and in an orderly but somehow not entirely conventional--more like that of a bygone era--style, a slimming white suit polished with a pale gold bow tie, kind eyes, heavy brows, and the smile that caused Kurt’s insides to curl up and shake loose and melt to the ground in utter submission.

And, even after all this time, Kurt could tell that he still wasn’t wearing any socks. 

“Hello, Kurt,” Blaine said evenly.

“Hello, Blaine,” Kurt replied, his mind watching with bated breath as his heart took over his body. “I’m certainly glad to see you.”

“I’m certainly glad to see you as well,” Blaine replied softly as he took a step forward. Each step he took marked Kurt’s heart beats into a waltz. Step-thump-thump, step-thump-thump, step-thump-thump...

If there was a singular thing in this world that Kurt Hummel knew better than fashion, it was Blaine Anderson. 

Kurt could tell you about the bronze-brown/peridot eyes that he had and how there was a ring of blueish gray around the iris and the way they reflected gold jade in the sunlight. He could tell you how the pink lips stretched across brilliant white teeth in a dazzling grin or the many stages that his curly hair went through. He could tell you about the dip of his collarbone or the curve of his ear or that little imprint upon his solar plexus or the way his ankles and wrists cracked when he twisted him or the dimples above his hips or the corner of his jaw between chin and ear.

He could tell you the different ways Blaine’s body looked in various forms of fashion, or what his life aspirations had been when he was eighteen, or the way his voice sounded when it was belting out in song or the way his eyes emoted visually far better than his lips did verbally. He could tell you the different ways his breath hitched--in laughter, in agitation, before crying, before sex, during sex, in the midst of flirtation, when his heart expanded. Blaine Anderson was an imprint utterly indelible to Kurt’s being. 

Except for the ten years they’d been apart. 

Blaine stopped in front of Kurt and his eyes caught the silvery moonlight, turning them a hazy greenish copper, like the Statue of Liberty in its early years stateside before the oxidization turned it tile-cleaner green forevermore. 

Kurt stared back at him and it was one of those moments when he just wanted to do something horrifically romantic and collapse into his arms or start singing a ballad or have fireworks miraculously go off all around them as they’d dissolve into a burst of glitter.

But then he blinked, and rationality came over him and he realized that he was, in fact, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, fashion columnist at Vogue.com, fiance of Nathan van der Geld, and out much later than he should be in the current presence of an old friend and ex love. “You look well,” he said, falling back on propriety and cliche convention in an attempt to regain his bearings. 

“As do you,” Blaine smiled with an incline of his head that just looked so cool and classy that Kurt wanted to raise a martini in elegant acknowledgment--alas, he did not have one. The alcohol would’ve helped with the nerves. 

“Will you be in town long?” Kurt asked, turning to look out of the greenhouse window, babbling on as he stared out over the park. “I haven’t seen you in so long--you should come over for lunch or coffee sometime because I live just over there across the park and oh, where are you staying? Close, I hope, I mean, I just came here because of the lights and I wanted to see what was going on, but do you know the host? Because then I could maybe do an interview for Vogue.com--I still work there you see, chief columnist now--about how they’ve managed to keep such large-scale parties under the radar because I only really knew about it because I saw the lights every night from my balcony and it would be excellent if--”

“Kurt.” A warm heavy hand fell onto his shoulder and it was so familiar that Kurt nearly shivered but he refrained and it was then that he wondered what living on this island for so long had done to him that he even had the power to refrain from an involuntary shiver. 

Kurt glanced over to look at Blaine, who’s lips were tugged up snuggly in the right corner--amusement of the adoring kind (were it in the left hand corner, it would be of the aroused kind). 

“I heard about your job,” Blaine said evenly, in that rich refined way that had caused Kurt to briefly forget his name the first time they’d met. “Congratulations. I’ve always known how much you love fashion. And no, I wouldn’t mind doing that interview with you.”

A blink. “What?”

“You said you wanted to do an interview with the host,” Blaine said easily. “This is my apartment.”

Kurt’s lips parted in surprise. There. An involuntary reaction that he hadn’t been able to refrain from. “Your...yours? What, everything? The top--”

“Top four floors, yes,” Blaine nodded. “And the roof. I’ve been the one throwing the parties.”

“But you’re...” Kurt frowned, his mind attempting to compute--pushing in the numbers, equating for time, adding up the probability of unforeseen circumstances--but it still didn’t add up. Sure Blaine’s family had been well-off and true, a decade had passed between them, but he’d be surprised at Blaine being able to afford one of the apartments in this building, let alone four penthouse floors of apartments. The questions of “How?” died on his lips, as a different question from somewhere in the left area of his chest leaped up to his lips. “Why?”

For the first time since they’d began talking, Blaine looked away from him and out the glass wall, across the park. A secretive smile--one of the ones that used to so infuriate Kurt whenever Blaine would withhold information from him--curled his lips. “I believe that will have to wait for the interview.”

Kurt’s annoyance spiked as he stared at those pinky lips and wishing for some method of wiping the smugness from them, but he’d only found one surefire way of doing so--hitting Blaine. In the lips. With his mouth. 

Which was out of the question.

He looked down at his left hand, at the ring that was so present and there and stark and harshly staring at him and judging him and he straightened up. “I should really get going.”

Blaine looked back at him, eyebrows raising. “So soon?”

“It’s late,” Kurt said evenly. “And I have a long day tomorrow.”

Crinkles formed next to Blaine’s eyes as he smiled that smile that Kurt really wished that he wouldn’t smile. “Battling the fashion world?”

“I wish,” Kurt groaned. “No, tackling caterers for the wedding and Nathan can’t--” The words came tumbling from his lips and dispersed before he could reach down and scoop them up and throw them back in. He stared at Blaine, mouth open, wondering why he felt like he’d just sullied hallowed ground.

But Blaine just nodded. “I heard about your engagement. I believe congratulations are in order.”

Kurt nodded in reply, smiling down at his shoes.

“Well,” Blaine said, breaking the silence. “We should get you home, shouldn’t we?”

“Uh, yes,” Kurt nodded, heading for the trapdoor.

“Kurt,” Blaine laughed. “There’s a far easier way than back through the party.” He opened the door of the greenhouse smoothly and Kurt stepped out onto the roof and into the night air. 

The noises from the party lifted up to them on a cloud of music and sound, but Kurt was distracted by looking over the park, trying to find his apartment.

“This way,” Blaine said gently and he led Kurt around the greenhouse and back to a series of fire escapes off the roof. Kurt followed him down, hand resting on the cold black railing as they descended past the windows of party-goers, feeling like he was floating through a dream and about to wake up. 

At street level, Blaine pulled out his phone and spoke for a few seconds and less than a minute later, a yellow car pulled up. Kurt had a term for that color of yellow: fashion yellow. And, to him, it was the only color of yellow acceptable. Somewhere between egg yolk and sunflower, this yellow was a kind that he only ever saw in the fabric of runway dresses and it was the only kind of yellow that he deemed worthy of his utmost attention. 

And Blaine had a fashion yellow car.

“I’m free most anytime,” Blaine said as he opened the car door for Kurt to slide in. “For that interview, if you still wish to do it.”

“I do,” Kurt nodded, strapping in as Blaine closed the door, leaning forward on the open window. “Does Sunday late morning work?”

“It works perfectly,” Blaine nodded. “Any place in particular?”

“There’s a coffee shop I like. Out of the way. Down in Chelsea?”

“Coffee is good,” Blaine smiled. “Well, I won’t keep you from your bed any longer.”

Kurt nodded, throat clenching as he remembered the last time Blaine had told him that. “Goodnight, Blaine.”

“Goodnight, Kurt.”

***

The ride home was a fast one, down Broadway, across 59th, then up Park Avenue. As soon as he was standing in front of his apartment, the fashion yellow car sped off and Kurt returned to his own penthouse.

Nathan was still gone.

With a sigh, he stripped off his clothes and headed to bed, pausing by his studio balcony window to look across the park and see the party still raging wildly. 

Blaine’s party.

It was a split decision, but he pulled down one of his sketchpads and sat on the balcony, drawing up a suit that was all-white and slimming and had a gold bow tie. Just because he’d been wondering who’d designed Blaine’s, he assured himself. And he wanted to be sure to remember to ask him when they had coffee next. 

The thought froze him--coffee with Blaine. He was going to have coffee with Blaine, and now he was sketching up clothes again like he used to, and what was it with him falling into old patterns tonight?

With a sigh, he tossed his sketch pad aside and rubbed his hands over his face. He took one last look at the extravagant party happening before he walked back inside, closing his balcony doors behind him with a firm click, and heading off to bed.

***

The next morning, Kurt slept in.

Being a morning person by principle, this was an oddity in and of itself, but it was nearly nine when he rose--two hours later than usual. He pushed his pale gray comforter off of him and stared at the odd modernized florescent lights in the ceiling as the memories from the night prior washed over him and dragged him under.

Blaine. He’d seen Blaine again.

Rolling out of bed, he slowly stripped out of his clothes and hung them over his arm as he moved into the dull lavender bathroom and folded them neatly on top of the toilet before stepping into the shower.

To say it had been a long while since he’d last thought of Blaine would be a lie--he thought of him quite often, but with a detached sort of feeling, like considering a relative that had passed when he was young.

Kurt groaned as he rubbed his hands over his face, standing directly under the spray. Not that Blaine was dead to him, or anything dramatic like that. More that he’d just been so absent from his life for such a substantive period of time that Kurt had reached a point of thinking on him with a vague indifference that he’d never been priorly afforded.

But Blaine...

He blinked against the water as he methodically started soaping himself up with a scent that matched the color of the room--dull lavender. 

Blaine had been his, well, everything. High school sweetheart. First love. First loss. He’d thought they’d make it, but...

He sighed, setting the soap down and letting the water run over him.

They didn’t last. And after Blaine graduated, he went overseas and he and Kurt didn’t contact each other and that had been that.

Had it always bugged Kurt that Blaine had never attempted to contact him? Yes. Had he ever looked back on his life and imagined Blaine still in it in any capacity? Yes. Did seeing Blaine last night remind him of all of that? Yes.

But it was the morning. And he had his routine. And priorities. 

Not to mention a brunch to host.

***

The table had a runner down it to hide the wax stains on the dark polished wood from the night before when the candles had burned low. A vase of hydrangeas stood, looking like leafy falsehood in it’s green-blue-purple mix that never quite ever sat well with him. Two quiches, three different loaves of artisan bread, a bottle of wine, a jug of grapefruit juice, mango pastries, five flavors of balsamic vinegar and olive oil for dipping, a plate of cheeses, fruit shaving salad, and linen napkins starched beyond reason. 

It was Saturday brunch, after all.

“Kurt, dear,” Quinn said breezily as she stepped in through the door, pulling off her gloves.

Quinn Fabray, an old classmate of Kurt’s and current Broadway dramatic actress, was a woman of unpopular time periods. She wasn’t the stereotypical flapper of the 20s or a soda shop poodle skirter from the 50s or a big-hair-and-shoulder-pads from the 80s. She had a grace and style that would jump and skip into the more obscure decades, making her classic and timeless but not in that trite and utterly overdone way that weighed down the other actresses of her caliber. 

Currently she was emulating the 10s in a hugging dusty rose dress that went to her toes, her hair pinned back and long jeweled necklaces hanging as she tugged off her pale gloves, still managing to look effortlessly like she fit in with her surroundings, even dressed a century old.

“Ooh, grapefruit this time,” she lilted, moving over to the table. “Fitting, though who’s to say that guava won’t be missed?”

“Quinn,” Nathan smiled as he set down a platter of garlic clams before kissing her cheek. “So good to see you again.”

“And it’s so good to be invited back to the illustrious Hummel/van der Geld brunch,” she smiled, dimples radiating charm as their other guests arrived.

Saturday brunch had been a two month new tradition of theirs, alternating friends based on schedules and such--a time to catch up from the week, not to mention that Nathan favored the notion of house guests (not too many, a respectable amount). 

They eased into brunch seamlessly, moving from light compliments to weekly happenings to the goings on of the city while they dined on their palatable delicacies. 

For once, Kurt partook in listening as opposed to conversing (if it could indeed be called conversing instead of just taking turns) as he slowly grazed upon the food. He didn’t feel at all compelled to contribute and was at once struck with the routine of the meal and the questions that went in circles and the points that never led to any answers and the borderline banality of it all.

It took him until his third mango pastry that he realized his problem: boredom. He was completely bored. Despite the fact that it was just one little Saturday brunch, he wanted excitement, he wanted fireworks, he wanted--

“Say Kurt, have you heard from Blaine recently?”

Kurt did his very best to not choke on his grapefruit juice which, naturally, led to utter failure, before turning to face Quinn. “What? No.”

“He’s back in town,” she smiled, leaning on her hand. “Just across the park.” Quinn Fabray had magic smiles. They managed to make her into the most devastatingly lovely and ferociously deadly creature on the isle of Manhattan in the blink of an eye while simultaneously managing to charm and warm the hearts of small children and old grandparents alike. Truly, it was amazing and terrifying.

“Who’s Blaine?” Nathan frowned, glancing between them.

“We all went to high school together,” Kurt said faintly, not looking away from Quinn. “But no, I haven’t heard from him in years.”

“Wait, surely not Blaine Anderson?” Benedict--one of Nathan’s partners at the bank--cut in, leaning into view.

“Yeah,” Kurt frowned, as Nathan questioned, “You know him?”

“The European businessman?” Benedict clarified. “The one who’s made the cover of every business magazine in the past five years? Didn’t they say that he was marrying a Spanish prince?”

“Oh, I remember him!” Gladys chimed in. “Wait, hasn’t he been the one hosting those extravagant parties every weekend on the West Side?”

“The same, I’m guessing,” Benedict nodded. “Have you heard about those, Geld? The giant parties raging across the park? The lights alone should flash your windows.”

“I haven’t seen anything,” Nathan shook his head, eyes sliding over to Kurt. “Kurt?”

Kurt blinked. “What?”

“Have you heard about these parties? From your work, I mean?”

Kurt hesitated briefly before shaking his head. “No, not at all. This is news to me.”

Nathan nodded before turning back to the conversation which had delved into new money and the merits it had upon the recently rich and the cause of wealth and the disastrous effects it could have on those not born into privilege. 

Kurt drank his grapefruit juice steadily, wishing for something stronger as the bittersweet pink slid down his throat. 

He did no know why he’d lied to Nathan about the parties. All he knew was that he wanted to keep Blaine a secret for as long as possible.

He forced himself to return to the conversation to avoid thinking about _why_ that was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

The hiss of the cappuccino machine sliced neatly through Kurt’s distracted thoughts as he looked around the small, empty, yet cramped coffee shop, the steam of the espresso creating stormy clouds against the window that rained condensation dripping down the glass. He glanced at his phone once more, making sure that he’d sent the correct address to Blaine as the clock over the register ticked its way to noon. 

Green Light Cafe was a place he’d found tucked into a tiny compartment between a flower shop and a furniture store in the lovely neighborhood of Chelsea. It had been after a stop at a designer’s studio on a very rainy day and Nathan’s driver had gotten the time and address wrong for Kurt’s pick-up, so Kurt had gone out into the rain. Like a beacon, the namesake of the cafe--a green light that hung above the door--had led him safely into harbor and he’d enjoyed one of the most delightful lattes that he’d had in all of his time on the island.

Ever since, he’d kept the place a quiet secret to himself--he hardly thought that Nathan or any of his friends would understand the appeal of a small little coffee shop--and he quite liked having his own space to escape to. Something that was entirely his.

Besides, small coffee shops had always held a certain appeal for him.

The door opened with the chime of a bell and Kurt’s eyes immediately darted up.

Blaine entered, closing his black umbrella neatly before looking around the cafe with an interested expression, eyes locking on Kurt within seconds.

Kurt smiled and gulped simultaneously--a curious experience that he was not tempted to repeat.

Blaine walked over to him with a nod. “Sorry. Got caught in the rain.”

“That’s fine,” Kurt said evenly as Blaine stripped off his dark gray trench coat to reveal his simple outfit of slimming black slacks, a fitted oxford, and a narrow crimson and plum striped tie that truly did wonders for him. Kurt blinked, pushing forward the second coffee cup on the table as Blaine sat down. “I ordered for you.”

Blaine looked down in mild surprise. “A chocolate biscotti and a medium drip.” His eyes shot back up to Kurt’s, amused. “You know my coffee order.”

“Of course I do,” Kurt rolled his eyes, easing back into his chair. Professional. That’s what he needed to be right now in order to complete his job as well as get answers from Blaine that he sorely needed. So he took out his pad and recorder, setting them both on the table. “Blaine.”

“Kurt,” Blaine responded in kind.

“As you know, I want to do an interview with you for Vogue.com,” Kurt began, the hot dampness of the room suddenly causing his pulse to throb against his neck. “And despite our own history--”

“I will keep it professional,” Blaine said easily, folding his hands neatly. “Please, fire away.”

Kurt allowed himself a smile in relief. Blaine always knew the things to say that would calm him--though really, he didn’t quite need to be thinking about that right now. So he picked up his pad and clicked his pen, ready for the scoop he was about to be dealt. 

There was a slight pause when he settled comfortably in his chair--but not too comfortable because he wanted to stay alert and ready to pick at details--and there was no sound but coffee being made and the rustle of a page in a novel as it was being turned and the quiet murmur of the couple in the corner and he could hear the slight exhale of Blaine’s breath and his heart raced once more.

But then he took a deep breath and looked up at Blaine, turning on his recorder as he began.

“Mr. Anderson,” Kurt began.

“Please,” Blaine smiled. “Call me Blaine.”

“Blaine,” Kurt replied. “Over the past weeks, the parties that you’ve thrown at your residence on the Upper West Side around Verdi Park have drawn quite a bit of attention from this island’s inhabitants. What has been your purpose in throwing these parties?”

“Well, that’s a question with a very complicated answer,” Blaine said as he took a sip of his drip, lips lingering in a kiss against the brown ceramic rim. “It did occur to me one night that I lived in an incredibly vast residence, owning four floors and a roof, so why not throw a party?” Blaine chuckled to himself before taking another caressing sip. 

“The point of it all...” He paused there, gazing off into the distance slightly as he set his cup down. His eyes found Kurt, startlingly clear despite the muggy atmosphere. “Was to convey an expression. A style. Something that would resonate with my guests and keep them coming back for more.”

“And what expression was that?” Kurt asked curiously, as he jotted down the shape of Blaine’s words.

Blaine paused again. “Hesperides’ garden.”

Kurt’s mind fired back, trying to remember where he’d heard the name. “Like...”

“Where the golden apples were grown,” Blaine supplied helpfully.

“The judgment of Paris,” Kurt nodded, catching on. “He was asked to decide who was the most beautiful between three goddesses and he chose Aphrodite.” 

“Exactly,” Blaine said evenly. “I try to represent her as often as possible as well, what with the sea foam and cream and gold color schemes.”

“A lovely touch,” Kurt nodded, slightly surprised at the innovation. “So you’re a rich man who throws expensive parties. But what about your background?”

Blaine opened his mouth before huffing out a laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you to fill in the details that you already know. But, I grew up in Westerville, Ohio most of my life. I attended Dalton Academy for two years of high school before transferring to McKinley High in Lima, where I then graduated. I studied at Oxford for three years before going abroad and making my own fortune. Traveled the world for a bit. Then I ended up back here, in New York.” 

“What did you study?” Kurt asked immediately, not daring to take his eyes off his pad.

“Pre-law, primarily. Dabbled in a bit of art history.”

That caused Kurt to pause and look up. “Not musical theater?”

“No,” Blaine shook his head with a wry smile. “Shocking, I know, considering where I was when we last saw each other. Then again, I thought I’d be seeing you on the stage as well, but then you dropped out of NYADA. I guess that particular dream wasn’t for either of us.”

Kurt stared at Blaine, unable to ignore his words as the memories of when they last saw each other washed over him.

***

_“Thanks for coming over,” Blaine grinned at Kurt as he opened the fridge and pulled out a jug of water with cucumber slices and lemon wedges and springs of cilantro floating in it. “It really means a lot.”_

_“Not at all,” Kurt smiled leaning against the counter as he waited for his water. “But what was so important that I had to come over at midnight?”_

_“Well...” Blaine deliberated. “We could go upstairs and I could--”_

_“Blaine Anderson!” Kurt gaped. “I did not come here for a...well, you know.”_

_“That’s not what I meant,” Blaine laughed, pouring himself a glass. “No, it was more something that I wanted to show you.”_

_“Still dirty,” Kurt shot back, looking from under his eyebrows._

_“Well it’s clear what’s on your mind,” Blaine smirked as he leaned over the counter, holding his glass, little rivers of liquid streaking down from where his fingertips were pressed against the condensation. “Would you care to elaborate, Mr. Hummel?”_

_“Oh hush,” Kurt flapped one of his hands at him. “And tell me what this is all about.”_

_Blaine opened his mouth and then closed it, holding up a finger. “One moment.”_

_He turned abruptly and headed out of the kitchen, leaving Kurt staring perplexedly after him._

_Kurt shrugged, taking another sip of his water as he drummed his fingers against the counter, glancing around in bored anticipation. He frowned as a seal caught his eye and he tugged on an envelope in a stack, pulling it out to glance at it._

_Blaine walked back in ten seconds later. “So Kurt, I--”_

_“Oxford?” Kurt whispered, glancing up from the envelope._

_Blaine hesitated. “Um, yes. I mean, I got in.”_

_“And you’re going...” Kurt said, the words falling from his lips as his mind tried to register the information. “You’re...you’re going...”_

_“Well, that depends actually--” Blaine started, but Kurt cut him off again._

_“Isn’t that...” Kurt cleared his throat. “I heard that Sebastian’s going to be attending Oxford.”_

_There was a pause. “Yeah. I heard that too.”_

_Kurt’s hand clenched on the counter as he looked off over at the sink, trying to take deep breaths. “So you’re going off to college with Sebastian.”_

_“Kurt--”_

_“God, I don’t know why I keep thinking and wishing and getting my hopes up and then you just pull the rug completely out from underneath me like last time,” Kurt snapped suddenly._

_Blaine’s expression dropped, growing dark. “What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“Oh, I think you know every well what it means, Blaine Anderson.” Kurt’s eyes shot back to Blaine._

_“Clearly I don’t, Kurt Hummel, so why don’t you elaborate on the subject.” Blaine fired back, his nostrils flaring slightly like they did whenever he got angry._

_“Every time I think we’re on the same page, you just go off doing whatever you want--”_

_“I’m sorry,” Blaine cut across him. “We? Since when have we been a ‘we’? I thought I was just the guy you spent ten percent of the time hooking up with and ninety percent of the time telling him that you’re not a couple!”_

_“Oh that’s right!” Kurt laughed derisively. “We can’t be a ‘we’ because you’re the one who clearly can’t be happy in the long run in that sort of relationship and just completely tears it apart!”_

_“Grow up, Kurt!” Blaine snapped. “Yes, I hurt you and yes, I’ve apologized endlessly about it. But don’t for a second pretend that our relationship was ruined only by me. I may have pulled the trigger, but we both loaded the gun. Or...wait no, remind me--how many times during your senior year did I have to listen to campaign talk and NYADA auditions and griping about Finn and Rachel’s wedding, but then when it came time for my senior year, you were too busy at the job you only worked part time at to talk with me about anything other than Rachel’s latest makeover!”_

_“Yeah, Blaine. Let’s talk about you this year,” Kurt bit back. “I’m here now, let’s do it. Tell me, did the Warblers just have to wave a blazer at you to get you to consider returning, or did they throw Sebastian at you as well?”_

_“Always with Sebastian with you!” Blaine yelled. “Sorry, I don’t go for tasteless idiots. Not that I could say the same for you, if what I hear about the Big Apple is true.”_

_“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Kurt’s voice grew cold._

_Blaine smiled at him. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Tell me, how is Benadam Crawfordbatch--still singing the most mediocre acoustic rap songs in existence? Did he even know that he was a rebound? Or were you too busy having sex with me in a hotel room to even consider that part? Did you even break up with him? Or was what the two of you had so lacking that it didn’t even merit a conversation?”_

_Kurt picked up the acceptance letter and shoved it into Blaine’s chest. “Have fun in England,” he snapped before turning and walking out the door, slamming it shut behind him._

***

“No,” Kurt said finally, glancing back at his pad. “I guess it wasn’t.”

There was a brief silence before Blaine leaned forward. “I...I never understood why you quit NYADA.”

Kurt rolled the pen between his fingers, considering. “I got a once in a lifetime opportunity with Vogue.com,” he settled, leaving out the half of it--that NYADA started to get to him. That Rachel was great, but not always a great friend and even more absent when she dealt with Funny Girl. That Santana was easily wrapped up in her own life. That Kurt felt alone and didn’t connect much with his classmates. That he’d lost contact to the one person who could always make him feel better and confident and courageous no matter what the circumstance. 

A hand rested on top of Kurt’s suddenly and Blaine was looking over at him earnestly. “I would have answered, Kurt,” he said softly. “If you were having trouble or if you needed help. Or just someone to talk to.”

Kurt felt his bottom lip tremble and part slightly from the top one. This was it. The feeling of nakedness and vulnerability that Blaine always made him feel--cutting sharply through his layers and hitting skin, exposing his weak spots. 

And he always offered comfort. And a hand to help, if it was needed.

Kurt slid his hand out from underneath Blaine’s, standing. “I think that’s all I need.”

“Kurt--”

“If there’s anything else, I’ll call you,” Kurt said distractedly as he pulled on his coat. “But I think this is good.”

Blaine stood as well, politely. “Perhaps we could go out for coffee again sometime?” 

“No,” Kurt said, far sharper than he intended. “I just...Blaine...I don’t think that that’d be a very good idea.”

“That’s completely fine,” Blaine said easily with a dismissing smile. “Make sure you get home safely.”

“I will, thank you,” Kurt nodded, turning to leave. 

“Kurt?”

Kurt looked back, the frazzled feeling sparking up his spine.

“It was good to catch up,” Blaine said warmly.

Kurt gave a sort of jerk of his head before rushing out.

***

“I just don’t understand what’s so wrong with irises,” Kurt sighed as he tore another ruined sheet of paper off of his sketchpad and tossed an idea from the map of his mind. 

“They’re just so...weird,” Nathan said frustratedly.

“Weird?” Kurt replied back. “My god, something’s considered weird--call the vatican.” 

“Oh, don’t start.”

“Well you’re going to have to give me something more substantial than that.”

“I just mean...they hardly offer prestige. Plus yellow is an infantile color.”

“They only have a stripe of yellow!” Kurt protested. “And who cares how prestigious they are? They go with the vision I have and they’re elegant lovely flowers.”

“The vision that you have?” Nathan raised his eyebrows. “So suddenly this is your wedding and not ours?”

“No--you know what I mean,” Kurt sighed. “I just don’t see your reticence around the flower when you’ve never even expressed an interest in florals before this week, and now suddenly irises are on the black list?”

“My apologies, I didn’t realize that I had to express an open interest in flowers in order to have input for my own wedding!” Nathan snapped.

Kurt took a deep breath. “Fine. We can do flowers later and consult with Olivier as well.”

“Fine,” Nathan said tersely. “Now can we please move on to suits?”

***

Lunch that afternoon was stilted and icily polite. They ate at a small cafe just two blocks down from their apartment. 

Kurt picked up his glass of lavender soda and sipped it quietly, staring down at his salad of greens and sliced pears and roasted walnuts. His eyes slid over to his red pepper tomato bisque in its stark white ceramic bowl that was tilted slightly asymmetrically. He blinked and stared at Nathan’s chicken caesar salad that was arranged artfully on his own plate. Then to Nathan’s Tom Ford ensemble. And his own Vivienne Westwood on.

He looked around the cafe and it settled into his mind how unlike a cafe it was. Stylistic art hung from the walls. The people sat, conscientious of how they were perched on their chairs. One of the baristas had a Bulgari watch. 

“Do you ever think we’re just pieces of art?” Kurt asked quietly, glancing out the steam-free windows at the utterly picturesque Park Avenue. 

“What was that?”

“It’s like a museum,” Kurt went on, lips prickling sharply as he took another sip of the soda and the carbonation crackled against his skin. “People can come and visit and look at the art pieces, but everything has to stay in its place. Exhibits come and go and people may move away, but this will always be a museum.”

“Are you trying out a new writing style for work? To give it a bit more edge?”

Kurt looked back at Nathan. He was so utterly perfect and frozen.

Manhattan was a Medusa that was turning them all to stone.

***

Kurt was fairly good at predicting the outcome of things, in particular when it came to his career.

He did not foresee, however, his article that he’d written on Blaine making the front page of the website. 

**UPPER WEST SIDE STORY: MANHATTAN MILLIONAIRE THROWS PARTIES OF THE CENTURY**

_The name Blaine Devon Anderson has been fresh on the lips of the local socialites in hushed whispers that float across our fair city. The philanthropist, better known across Europe for his art dealings, seemed to emerge from the fog and take the island by storm. His weekend parties rock the entire west side in a gilded-oceanic opulence that seems both iconic and fresh._

Kurt sighed, closing the site and rubbing his eyes wearily. Twisting his wrist and ankles, he stood  from his desk and went out to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of tea. He turned his phone on silent, knowing the badgering that everyone in his unit would end up doing for the next two days, wanting more scoop on Blaine, and he really didn’t want to deal with it at that moment. So he made himself a cup of lady grey and went out onto his balcony, watching the drippy gray city grind on through the fog. 

He leaned his face against the green-from-oxidization copper railing and closed his eyes, breathing in the scents of the city as well as the steam from his tea.

Unbidden, his eyes drifted across the lush green park to the west side, where he knew his focus really lied.

Shaking his head he went back to quietly sipping his tea.

***

Hours passed until he finally went back inside.

Nathan was looking over papers at the dining room table as Kurt looked through the refrigerator for something to graze on.

“I read your article,” Nathan said suddenly. 

Kurt glanced over from the salad he was preparing. “Really?”

“Yes,” Nathan said evenly. “Quinn said that you two and Anderson went to school together, correct?”

“Yep,” Kurt said nonchalantly, grabbing the fig vinaigrette.

“McKinley?”

“Yes.”

“But here it says that he went to Dalton for part of his high school career. Didn’t you attend there as well?”

Kurt paused from tearing apart chunks of brie. “Yes, I did.”

Nathan made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. 

Kurt started thinly slicing an apple.

“Good school, Dalton Academy.”

“Yes, it was,” Kurt said evenly.

“Why did you stop going again?”

“My father couldn’t keep paying the tuition.”

“Ah.”

Silence resumed. 

“Why do you think Anderson stopped attending?”

“What?” Kurt asked, bewildered as he turned to look at Nathan.

Nathan was staring at him dead on, without any sort of amusement. “Well, he clearly comes from some sort of money. So I doubt it was the tuition.”

“What are you trying to say?” Kurt sighed.

“Well I wonder, Kurt. What could McKinley High School possibly hold over Dalton Academy?”

Kurt clenched his jaw before turning back to his apples.

“Kurt?”

“We were best friends,” Kurt said, arranging the slices artfully on his salad greens. 

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What happened there?”

Kurt could still feel the grainy wood of the Andersons’ door when he slammed it shut. “We had a falling out. Haven’t spoken since.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re really asking me if I’m sure?” Kurt snapped, wheeling back around to face him.

“I’m just being thorough,” Nathan said stiltedly. “And what about now?”

“What do you mean?” Kurt sighed, exasperated. 

“Well are you two friends again?” Nathan folded his hands neatly.

Kurt gritted his teeth. “Sure. Maybe.”

“Then perhaps we should invite him to the wedding.”

“No,” Kurt said adamantly.

“And why not?”

“You don’t even know him!” Kurt snapped. “And now you want to invite him to our wedding?”

“Well then I should get to know him,” Nathan said, standing. “You and I can go to one of his parties this weekend.”

Kurt bit back his immediate denial and took a deep breath. “Why are you so interested?”

“Because I want to get to know all of your friends,” Nathan said back evenly. “We’re getting married. I think I should know everything about you.”

He then sat back down to his work and said nothing more. Kurt turned back to his salad, the apple slices already beginning to brown. 

***

That Friday night found him in a mint green ensemble, adjusting a small silver leaf pin to his collar as he waited for Nathan to get ready in his standard black tie suit.

Silently they got into their town car and headed for the Upper West Side, neither wanting to break the quiet.

Nathan was the first to speak when they pulled up as close as possible, by Verdi Park. “It’s quite bombastic looking.”

“Even more so on the inside,” Kurt replied and they both got out of their car, walking arm in arm to the building that had half of the island pouring into. 

“You’d think that the neighbors would complain because of the noise,” Nathan said stiffly.

“I think they enjoy the free invitations,” Kurt shrugged as they melded into the crush. 

Nathan was disquietingly silent through the chatter on the elevator, and as soon as they were out, he took a sweeping glance at the room before leaning over to half-yell in Kurt’s ear over the brassy din. “Where’s Blaine?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Kurt yelled back. “There are too many people!”

They moved away from the main area and went into the hall, looking into side rooms. Kurt barely had the chance to glance into any and appreciate them before Nathan was hurriedly moving to the next one.

They were stopped in a fuchsia room. “Kurt!”

Kurt’s eyes widened as he found himself with an armful of Rachel Berry. “Rachel! What are you doing here?”

“Santana!” she grinned, stumbling slightly. “She told me that Blaine was back in town and throwing parties! And this champagne is pink, Kurt! It’s pink!”

“I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, dear,” Kurt said hurriedly, sitting her down and panicking internally. If she said anything--

“But how are you? And Blaine’s back! Have you two talked about--”

“Blaine!” Kurt interrupted her hurriedly. “Do you know where he is?”

“Uh huh!” she yelled, nodding her head rapidly. “He was in the gold room with the drinks, I think. Two doors down!”

“Okay!” Kurt nodded. “We’ll see you later!” Not likely. He grabbed Nathan’s arm and dragged him out into the hall and then two doors down, pushing the door open. 

Rachel hadn’t been kidding about the gold room. The entire room glowed in its aurum glory. And leaning against the counter, talking to the curator of the Met, was Blaine, wearing a spectacular dull rose suit. He tipped back a shot of Goldschlager, and Kurt found himself horribly distracted by his neck.

“Blaine!” Kurt said, hating that his voice was always the same whenever he exclaimed his name.

Blaine looked over, a warm smile gracing his face and only freezing for a half-second when seeing Nathan, but smoothing over into his trademark formal politeness. Kurt was pretty sure that after the few years spent learning Blaine’s facial expressions, he was the only one who noticed the change.

“Kurt!” he grinned, walking over to him and offering a brief hug. “And this must be the lucky man?”

Kurt nodded, looking at Blaine pointedly. “Blaine, this is Nathan, my fiance. Nathan, this is Blaine. We were best friends in high school.”

Blaine caught the look before nodding and smiling at Nathan, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Nathan.”

“Likewise,” Nathan said, shaking his hand firmly.

“Let me show you the place,” Blaine grinned, setting down his glass.

“I’m afraid we can’t,” Nathan said apologetically. “We’ve already been here for quite some time, and we were only going to drop in.”

Kurt opened his mouth at the lie, but Nathan squeezed his shoulder tightly.

“I can’t persuade you to stay even a little longer?” Blaine asked congenially.

“Sorry, we both have early mornings tomorrow,” Nathan shrugged. “Picking out wedding suits.”

“Ah, I won’t keep you then,” Blaine nodded. “You’re quite lucky to be marrying Kurt. Back in high school, he was quite the little wedding planner.”

“Yes well, we’ll see,” Nathan said stiffly. “But really, we should get going.”

“Come back anytime,” Blaine nodded, looking directly at Kurt. “I’m here every weekend.”

Kurt smiled as Nathan pulled him back, through the halls and down the elevator and out the door. 

The ride home was accompanied with icy silence.

“I wanted to stay longer,” Kurt said as they snaked through the park.

“For what purpose?”

“To party. It’s generally what you do at a party.”

“I thought it was brash and over-the-top.”

“I disagree.”

“There was no elegance to it at all.”

“I’d say your concept of elegance is too rigid.”

“I disagree.”

“Try wearing anything other than a black tie and then get back to me.”

“Kurt!”

Kurt sighed and turned to look at Nathan, who was in turn looking at him disapprovingly.

Neither said anything and they looked back out their respective windows at the dark trees floating by.

***

_Too much work. Go without me. N._

Kurt sighed, clicking out of his messages as he leaned back against the leather seat, hating the red heat that crept up in his face. 

Clive walked out from the back. “So in the meantime, would you--”

“That’s quite alright, Clive,” Kurt waved his hand. “Nathan won’t be joining us today. Let’s just get started.”

It had been something that he’d been particularly dreading and anticipating--choosing their wedding suits. He knew that they’d clash over their decisions and somehow him choosing alone at this particular point just made it worst because he knew that Nathan would eventually disagree and they’d probably have a fight about it. 

White or black? Or maybe gray? Gray accents? Or silver accents? Maybe gold? There were so many possibilities and they both needed to be there to choose. 

But, as usual, work was a priority for Nathan.

Kurt didn’t know why he was so surprised. Rachel was the exact same, and they’d managed to be friends for a dozen years now.

He waved aside the black selections--he’d always wanted to get married in lighter colors, though he knew that Nathan would have something to say about that later on.

But this was his own time to spend and relax, so he indulged himself in looking at the white and gray suits. He stripped eagerly, trying on the various combinations. 

He was particularly partial to a silver-lined gray ensemble that was extremely slimming and just on the edge of couture. Other favorites included a white suit with a solid gold shirt underneath and a pale gray and white asymmetrical combo. 

But his favorite quickly emerged in a clean white suit with a light cream vest and a pale gold tie. He did it up eagerly, mind already flitting about to what sort of pin he could have on his lapel that would look best.

“Very handsome.”

He turned in surprise to see Blaine leaning against the entrance to the mirror room, looking suave in white pants, a sea green dress shirt, and a blood orange bow tie, holding his jacket smoothly over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing here?” Kurt asked, throat suddenly feeling very tight.

“Picking up a jacket,” Blaine said, lifting the one over his shoulder slightly for emphasis. “And I see that you’re occupied with a far greater task.”

Kurt shrugged, looking back in the mirror. “It’s just preliminary. The official decision won’t be made until later.”

“I’m not entirely sure you need to look much further,” Blaine stepped forward, laying his jacket over one of the squashy leather couch-chairs. “That looks perfect.”

“Well, Nathan still needs his input,” Kurt said, straightening his tie. 

“Ah, yes,” Blaine nodded. “Where is the future Mr. Hummel?”

“Tied up with work. And we’re keeping our names,” Kurt sighed, turning back to Blaine.

“Is that so?” Blaine asked lightly.

“You try hyphenating Hummel and van der Geld,” Kurt rolled his eyes.

Blaine chuckled, leaning forward to straighten Kurt’s collar.

_“Well next time, don’t forget your jacket, new kid. You’ll fit right in.”_

Kurt blinked away the memory.

“Well, he’d be an idiot not to realize that this is a perfect fit,” Blaine smiled. “And you always did look good in light colors.”

Kurt nodded, turning around to look at himself in the mirror. “I do like it, but I feel like it needs something else, like a pin, or some sort of--”

“Accent?” Blaine finished. “Well, you could have a gold pin on your lapel to offset the pale gold, and then some sort of blue as well to go with the marital saying. You always did want all four back when you’d plan weddings during dull Warbler meetings.”

“You weren’t supposed to see those!” Kurt protested, looking affronted at Blaine through their reflections. 

“My favorite was when you considered wearing my Dalton tie with your suit, just to fit the something old, something borrowed, and something blue quotient,” Blaine said, trying and failing to suppress his amusement.

“I hate you,” Kurt muttered, blushing up to his roots. “So what--a sky blue? Or sea foam?” He sent a pointed glance to Blaine’s shirt.

“No no,” Blaine shook his head. “Something a little more elegant. A few shades lighter than periwinkle, I think. Like a silk handkerchief.” 

Kurt blinked. “That’s...a good idea.”

“And then, if you’re carrying flowers--are you carrying flowers?”

“Still up in the air,” Kurt sighed. “I want to, but Nathan said that if I do, it should be peonies.”

“Oh god no,” Blaine balked. “I mean, they’re good for an overall flower arrangement, but not for carrying down the aisle unless you’re wearing a giant puffy dress.”

“That’s what I said!” Kurt sighed, rubbing his temple.

“But you should try irises,” Blaine shrugged.

Kurt froze. “What?”

“Well, irises would be lovely,” Blaine said, tilting ins head in consideration. “Like a bouquet of blue ones with gardenias, or white ones wrapped in blooming periwinkle vines--or both and you each could carry the other to offset and compliment each other.”

Kurt blinked and he could see it. The ceremony suddenly came up sharply in his mind--bare of people but clear on detail. It had been such a struggle to envision his wedding the past few weeks but suddenly he could.

“Or a different flower. I mean, you could have lavender flowers with pale purple accents as well, and I know how much you love lilacs. Those could be used in the arrangements too,” Blaine went on, unaware of how affected Kurt had become.

Kurt turned suddenly, and they were only inches apart. Blaine’s rambles quickly died out as they looked at each other and everything grew very quiet. 

Kurt could still see the dull jade and vibrant forest green and muted gold and warm brown swirls in Blaine’s eyes, like a marbled notebook cover. His eyelashes were thick and black and feathery, his brows heavy and open.

Kurt’s eyes drifted down to his lips, which were parted slightly, having been interrupted mid-idea. They looked so sweet and perfect and exactly what Kurt needed in that moment. 

So he leaned forward.

“Mr. Hummel, here is that cravat you wanted.”

Kurt lurched back sharply, looking around Blaine’s shoulders--which were broad, so much broader than they had been in high school and how on earth had Kurt missed that the past couple of times they’d talked?--to Clive, who was staring down disinterestedly at the clothing in his arms.

“Yes, Clive,” Kurt stepped easily around Blaine, feeling a slight rush of blood to his head as he took the cravats from Clive. “Could I maybe see your handkerchiefs as well?”

Clive nodded, walking back to the counters.

Kurt licked his lips, not wanting to turn around.

“Kurt--”

“I’d like to thank you,” Kurt interrupted, attempting to ground himself. “For your discretion last night.”

There was a slight pause. “You’re welcome. Friend.”

Kurt sighed, turning back to look at Blaine. “What was I supposed to tell him?”

“The truth?” Blaine shrugged. “We dated. We broke up. I don’t see why it has to be so hush hush.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Well I clearly don’t understand now,” Blaine said, walking towards him. “Kurt, what are you afraid of?”

Kurt felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he looked down at his cravats and sat, sorting through them. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“Kurt--”

Kurt looked back up at him sharply. “Was there anything else you needed?”

Blaine stared down at him. “No,” he shook his head. “But if _you_ need anything, you know where I am.”

Kurt nodded, looking back down at his lap as Blaine left.

***

He’d been wrong, and he could acknowledge that. 

He didn’t go into work that day, instead walked through the Village and up through Union Square before getting on Broadway and following it up all the way to Time Square so that he could think. 

He still had feelings for Blaine in some capacity, that much he couldn’t deny.

It was to be expected--the feelings had been there the last time he’d seen Blaine before their decade of silence. It was only natural that they would crop up again.

But he had perspective. He had focus and a purpose.

He also had a fiance who was in the dark about everything.

He had to tell Nathan and they had to talk it out.

Not today, but soon. When they were in a better position than they were in now. 

Kurt blinked, looking around. He was at the point where Broadway and Amsterdam crossed. Blaine’s building loomed two blocks down.

Kurt sighed, taking a right and heading for the park so that he could get back to his side of the island.

***

It was night when he got back.

The apartment was dark as he padded through it, relying solely on sense memory as he went over to the window in the sitting room, looking out over the bright city lights.

“We should talk.”

He jumped at the sudden voice, turning to find Nathan sitting in the dark in one of their armchairs. On anyone else, it would seem like borderline comedic irony with his serious posture, but the fact that Nathan did nothing ironically or with thought towards theatrics made it more unsettling.

“Yes?” Kurt cleared his throat.

“About Blaine.”

“What about Blaine?” Kurt frowned.

“I had brunch with Rachel today.”

Kurt’s eyes flashed. “You’re telling me that you canceled Saturday brunch so we could suit shop together, didn’t show up because of work, and lied to me so that you could have brunch with _Rachel_?”

“It looks like I’m not the only one who was lying,” Nathan’s volume steadily raised. “She told me some interesting things about you and Blaine from high school.”

“Oh like what?”

“You two dated, didn’t you?” Nathan said, folding his arms.

“Yes, we dated,” Kurt snapped. “Happy?”

“Hardly,” Nathan stood, taking a step forward. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What, about a random ex-boyfriend?” Kurt snorted. “Sorry if I’m not like you and don’t feel the need to reveal all about my past personal life!”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Nathan asked quietly. 

“Well, we’ve had dinner with about five of your exes--”

“We work in the same field!”

“And three are invited to the wedding!”

“Yes, Kurt,” Nathan snapped. “They’re invited to the wedding, which means that they’re be there to see us get married. They’ll see me--their ex--marrying the man I chose to be my husband, which won’t be them. I’m making my commitment and my statement! Can you say that you’ll be making the same to Blaine? Because from what Rachel said, he hardly seems like just ‘a random ex-boyfriend’!”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Kurt fired back.

“Well, he clearly still has feelings for you based on the show he put on last night--”

“Oh don’t be absurd--”

“And you clearly have something to hide if you want to keep your relationship with him a secret!”

“We can have this conversation later when you calm down. I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Kurt said angrily, moving to leave.

Nathan grabbed his arm sharply and swung him back around. “No, you are not running away from this, Kurt!”

“Oh, so whenever I want to discuss something, I’m put on hold, but when you want to talk about it I have to?” Kurt yelled. “Not likely, Mr. van der Geld, now let me go!”

“Why don’t we talk some more about what Rachel told me over brunch this morning, Kurt,” Nathan said, bringing him closer. “Apparently she was talking to Santana Lopez who said that she saw you at that party last Friday night. When that Saturday morning, you told Quinn that you hadn’t heard from Blaine!”

“Nathan, let me go!”

“How long have you known he’s been back in town?” Nathan grabbed his other arm sharply when Kurt tried to squirm away.

“Just that night--stop!”

“How am I supposed to believe you when you’ve been lying to me?”

“If you want to talk about lying,” Kurt snapped suddenly. “Then how about all those extra hours you’ve spent at the office recently? Funny, the last time I called in, your secretary said that you’d left hours before!”

He saw it coming before it happened. 

Nathan raised his left hand and struck Kurt hard across the face with the back of it.

“Don’t talk back to me! We’re talking about you, not me!”

There was a horrible silence after it happened.

Kurt looked back at Nathan, who was staring at him angrily. Then the anger slowly drained from his eyes as he looked at his hand and back to Kurt. 

Kurt could feel three distinct points of heat on his face. One on his lip where it had snagged on his tooth. A second in his nose from the force of the blow. And a third across his cheek, where the diamond on Nathan’s engagement ring had scraped. 

He knew that all three areas were bleeding in some capacity.

“Kurt...” Nathan said quietly, his grip loosening. 

Kurt stumbled backwards, his hand coming up to his nose and feeling the warm wetness as he stared at Nathan in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” Nathan said faintly, stepping forward. “Kurt, I’m--”

Kurt turned and ran out, slamming the door heavily behind him.

He took the stairs, running down them blindly as his body shook with fear and sadness and adrenaline and confusion and the need to just get out of the building. 

Shoving through the side door, he found himself on the side of the building. Disoriented, he stumbled out into the street, seeing a flash of yellow and hearing the screech of a car.

***

Inside, Nathan stood, his fiance’s blood still staining his engagement ring. He walked over and poured himself a scotch before sitting back in his perfect living room. Looking out over the city skyline, he didn’t think about anything. He just took another sip.

***

The taxi managed to stop in time, but it still hit Kurt with enough force to cause him to stumble and fall in the middle of the street.

The driver got out hurriedly, apologizing frantically, but Kurt waved him off. “Could you give me a ride?” he rasped, out of breath as he looked up at the driver.

The driver took in his state and nodded. “Of course sir, free of charge, do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No,” Kurt shook his head. “Could you get me to Verdi Park?”

“Or course sir, let me help you.”

Kurt accepted the hand that pulled him up as he climbed into the backseat of the car and they sped off. A sharp right and they were hurtling through the park, leaving the Upper East Side behind. 

Kurt wasn’t entirely sure the next time he’d return. 

They broke through the trees to the Upper West Side and took another right to go north. Arching their way across Broadway, the lights of Blaine’s apartments were easily seen. Kurt pointed the building out and he was dropped off in front of it.

He fought his way through the masses heading in and slid into an elevator, keeping to himself. He did his very best not to start crying as they headed up, but he ultimately failed, his mind still buzzing and reeling as he clutched at his nose which was leaking quite a bit of blood. The cut on his cheek had already started to scab, but his lip was still busted as well. 

Stumbling out of the elevator with everyone else, he looked around frantically, trying to find Blaine. He went back to the side hall and looked through all the rooms. He even went up to the roof, but Blaine was nowhere to be found. 

So he started asking everyone he came across, desperate for an answer, but no one seemed to know where he was.

Kurt ended up back in the main room with the giant fountain and he leaned against it as the party raged around him. His fingers stained the shell edges red with his blood as he kept shaking, replaying the scene from earlier over and over again in his head, unable to escape from it.

He didn’t know for how long he sat there, but at one point he looked up and saw Blaine across the room, laughing with someone. 

Kurt stood shakily and started making his way over towards him. He hadn’t gotten halfway before Blaine looked over and saw him, his face splitting into a surprised grin before the smile dropped sharply when he really looked. Kurt stopped in the middle of the floor, staring at Blaine, both of them frozen.

Blaine, not taking his eyes off of Kurt, took out his phone and tapped it a few times. The music cut off and there was a loud blaring, similar to a horn that went through the area, disturbing the partygoers. Security guards appeared and started ushering everyone out, which was met with a great deal of complaints and protests, but ultimately the floors were emptied within minutes.

Kurt and Blaine didn’t move the whole time. 

When the last of the elevators went down, they were met with a thick silence and Blaine finally moved forward. He walked right up to Kurt and tilted his head forward for better light, looking over the blood on his face. “Please tell me what you need,” he said quietly.

Kurt’s lips parted as his frazzled mind was able to focus on one thing at last. “I need...” his lip started trembling as his breath came out heavy. “I need a place to stay.”

“Okay,” Blaine nodded, pulling Kurt into a hug. “It’s okay.”

Kurt clung to him tightly and cried, getting blood all over Blaine’s pale green suit as he let himself be cuddled and cocooned by the lie. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

In the three times that he’d been to Blaine’s place, it never occurred to him that Blaine might actually have bedrooms. Of course he had to--where else was he going to sleep?--but the actual notion of something happening in his apartments other than parties had never really registered in Kurt’s mind. 

He found himself in a pale pink room that had every assortment of peony bouquets imaginable. He walked over to the vanity and stroked the petals of the flowers. He’d always had a certain fondness of peonies. His first encounter with them had been when his mother had brought home a bouquet from the farmers market when he was three, and he’d practically attacked her, convinced that she was holding multiple scoops of strawberry ice cream. 

Laying out on the fluffy bedspread, he stared up at the rose chandelier and wondered. 

***

He’d been at Blaine’s for nearly two weeks, ever since the night he’d walked out on Nathan. He’d left his phone at home, so he hadn’t heard anything. 

He spent most of his days exploring the giant linked apartments that Blaine had purchased, going through the rooftop garden, eating ridiculously sumptuous food, and talking with Blaine.

Blaine didn’t push, which had always been something that Kurt had greatly adored about him. He kept the conversation light, mainly about the apartments. Kurt didn’t offer to differ from that discussion topic. And there was much to learn. 

There hadn’t been a party since he’d started staying there. He’d tried to tell Blaine that he didn’t mind, but Blaine had waved him off. He was far more concerned with Kurt’s affairs.

But that was one of the best things about Blaine. He made his worry known, but he never asked questions when he knew that Kurt wasn’t in the right state to answer them.

So he didn’t ask any questions. He just allowed Kurt to stay.

That is, until one day, he did.

Though not the question that Kurt expected.

“Why did you never go into fashion design?”

Kurt looked up from his salmon alfredo in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Well, obviously I always thought that you’d go on to Broadway,” Blaine shrugged, taking a bite of caramelized carrot. They were in the library dining room, which was an intimate table in a small cozy nook. “But I assumed that if there was anything that could pull you from it, it would me designing clothes, not writing about them. So what happened there?”

Kurt took another bite of pasta, chewing thoughtfully. “I guess I never had the time, if that makes sense? Or the money. I was so consumed with being an intern--and that didn’t pay a whole lot--so it became harder and harder to buy materials and I’d get home and crash and I had so little free time...” He gave a shrug. “So I stuck with writing about fashion because I was good at it.”

Blaine nodded, and remained silent throughout the rest of dinner.

Kurt wiped his mouth with his napkin, satisfied, when Blaine stood suddenly, holding a hand out to Kurt. 

“Come on,” he grinned.

“Come on what,” Kurt blinked in surprise, glancing down at the offered hand.

“Just...come on,” Blaine grinned and Kurt took his hand cautiously. 

They walked along over to the west wing--which Kurt had unfortunately not visited as thoroughly. Past a large floral fountain and around the back of a mini lounge, they came to a large oak door with a leafy pattern carved into it. Blaine gave Kurt a mischievous smile before pushing it open. 

It was a very large and very square room. Kurt walked into the middle of the shiny hardwood floors and looked up to the mini-balcony surrounding the perimeter. Everything was wooden an brassy and gleaming and Kurt spun around at the hundreds of long slim drawers that covered the walls. 

There was the unmistakable crackling scratch of a record behind him and he turned to see Blaine walking away from the small alcove that held the player on a desk. A jazzy--yet annoyingly familiar--song started up immediately, and when the voice started crooning, Kurt blinked in surprise.

“Is this...” a small smile creeped onto his face. “Bryan Ferry? Love is the Drug?” 

“The one and only,” Blaine grinned, taking Kurt’s hand and pulling him smoothly into his arms as they started dancing around the room. “Well, a more modern, yet classic 20s interpretation of the song.”

Kurt smiled as they rocked back and forth, remembering back when they were teenagers and he’d been lying on Blaine’s bed, watching Blaine dance around his room to the same song, but the 70s version.

Blaine spun Kurt out suddenly and went over to the wall, grabbing one of the handles and pulling. Instead of a drawer, like Kurt expected, he pulled out a long length of fabric, throwing the handle yards away as the bright watermelon red fabric arced across the room. 

Kurt stared up as the fabric started to flutter down, but Blaine was already moving to another handle, this time pulling out saffron yellow and letting it skid across the floor like a yellow brick road. 

Grinning, Kurt ran over to the opposite wall and pulled a handle at random. Tiffany blue streamed out and he threw it up into the air before moving down and yanking two--electric violet and pale rose. 

They continued, the room bursting in a rainbow of color. Blaine climbed the ladder up to the balcony and started pulling handles out at random, raining cream and gold and sea foam and lilac down on him. 

Kurt laughed, reaching out to catch the handle for lilac as he slipped on emerald and twisted around, catching it as he rolled up in ash silver. He held onto the fabric tightly as he regained his footing, giggles still erupting from his lips as he tugged on persimmon orange.

Blaine slid down the ladder easily, rushing over to him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kurt reassured, trying to stifle his laughter. “Just...help me get untangled.”

Blaine twisted him around, trying to free him from the length, but really just ended up getting him more and more ensnared. After a couple of minutes, they were incapable of trying further because they sagged against each other in laughter. 

“I’m sorry,” Blaine gasped, straightening Kurt up. “Honestly, I didn’t mean--”

“It’s fine,” Kurt shook his head, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Blaine’s as he continued giggling. 

Blaine went quiet and Kurt looked over at him, their foreheads still pressed together. The snug fabric around him and the crackling music filtering through the room and Blaine’s long eyelashes nearly brushing his all worked against him and caused his face to tilt forward just a fraction. 

The song ended as there was just the soft sound of crackling as they both breathed in each other’s breath quietly for a few seconds.

Then the next song came on, blaring loud and immediate and Kurt leaned back sharply, the room seeming oddly brighter. He could feel his pulse hammering against the side of his neck as he looked down and immediately set about getting himself unraveled from the fabric.

***

He considered going someplace else. 

For all intents and purposes, he needed a place where he could think through his relationship with Nathan, which would be practically impossible with Blaine around. Blaine had always had the tendency to muddle the picture as far as Kurt was concerned, and he knew that, and he honestly shouldn’t be surprised that it remained the same way after a decade. 

Isabelle was the first and obvious choice, but she was currently in Paris, and while Kurt was avoiding his home at all costs, there was no way in hell that he was going to avoid his city.

Rachel was in town, but she was leaving again for London shortly. He could look up Santana, but they’d been out of contact for so long other than briefly running into each other at Blaine’s party that it would seem like an intrusion. 

And honestly, there wasn’t really anyone else he liked the idea of staying with for an indeterminate period of time. He could, of course, just check into a hotel, but the idea of being completely isolated save for room service didn’t have any appeal either.

So he wondered and pondered through the west wing--after a hasty retreat from Blaine and the fabric, and oh that fabric, the things he could and would do to that fabric given a needle and thread, making love and defiling it in the unholiest of ways--as ideas bounced from one side of his brain to the other. 

He found himself in a small library with stain glass windows. On the far wall was a triad of pictures in the glass, each depicting a different scene. In the first, various shades of blue and green and cream swirled around each other to portray the birth of Aphrodite. In the second, warm yellows and golds and reds created the judgment of Paris. And in the third, purples and silvers and palest pinks made of the trials of Psyche set by Aphrodite. 

Kurt stared at each portrait in turn. The first showed the goddess deified, fresh from the sea, a marvel to behold in her sexual beauty. The second was the goddess verified in Paris choosing her as the most beautiful of all by bestowing her with the golden apple. The third showed the goddess disgraced, her beauty shoved aside for that of a mortal, who then went on to break her son’s heart so she exacted her own vengeance. 

And then it occurred to him how little he truly knew of Blaine’s experiences in the decade past. He’d been content with his brief explanation of business in Europe because he honestly hadn’t wanted to open up the wound of their separation even further. But ten years had passed. Nearly four times the amount of from the point when they’d met to the point when they’d parted ways. Blaine could be an entirely different person and Kurt could just be clinging--hoping, possibly relying?--on to the Blaine he once knew, not the Blaine that stood before him today. 

Furthermore, upon examining the facts, he wasn’t entirely sure where he even fit into all this. Blaine threw lush extravagant parties that he’d just happened to wander into one night. He was rich beyond measure and clearly spending it all on entertainment. That certainly didn’t sound like the Blaine he’d known, who was always so prudent and realistic with his money, even as he indulged Kurt and they’d look at overly expensive online auctions together.

And his focus on wealth and beauty, another thing Blaine had never been particularly keen on. But now it was the theme of his parties.

Kurt wandered into a small side study in the library, where there sat a lovely dark cherry wood desk. On top of it, but pushed slightly to the side was a large square pale gray book of some sort. Kurt turned it towards him and opened to a random page. 

It was a scrapbook. There was an online article pasted on the page he’d turned to. Leaning forward, he read:

**Wingtips and Pigtails: The Newest in Feminine Fashion, Or Just Another Fad That’ll Crash and Burn?**

Kurt blinked. It was an article he’d written for Vogue.com three years ago, at the brink of the wingtip revival. Turning the page, he was met with another headline.

**The Hotel Empire’s Grand Reopening: Get Ready For The Forties Film Noir Soiree of the Score**

Another article he’d written from the same year. 

He flipped through the pages, finding more and more articles that he’d written, or ones that mentioned him in some way. Going backwards, he found little pieces that he’d collaborated on with Isabelle. Going forward, he found the longer articles from Vogue and the other few magazines that he’d occasionally written for. 

Kurt closed the book, his mind reeling. 

***

Later that night found Kurt on the roof, leaning on the cold stone ledge as the city lit up around him. But his attentions were focussed on the large mass of darkness that was Central Park as he gazed across it to the East Side. He sighed, staring back down at the grainy gray stone, conflicted.

“Kurt?”

And there he was, the source of conflict. Kurt turned, forcing a smile on his face as he looked at Blaine. 

Blaine stood there, looking so sharp and cool in his khaki slacks and starched white oxford and cream vest and Kurt ached. 

Blaine walked forward to him, expression unsurprised and...strangely old looking. 

It hit Kurt at that moment that while they may not be old necessarily, they were definitely aged from the teenage boys they’d been when they’d first met. They were older. They weren’t youths. They hadn’t aged much, but they’d aged enough.

Far more than Kurt had really planned to when he was just sixteen.

But...though their exteriors were definitely different, that wasn’t the side of Blaine that Kurt was most concerned with at the moment.

“I went into the library,” Kurt said quietly. “In the west wing. The one with the stain glass windows?”

“Yes?” Blaine questioned, leaning next to him against the cool stone ledge.

“And I came across a scrapbook,” Kurt said carefully. “Of um, well...” he looked up at Blaine. “Of me.”

Blaine stared back at him evenly. 

“And I was just wondering,” Kurt trudged on. “Why do you have that?”

Blaine looked off over the park briefly. A warm breeze blew by and ruffled the edges of his gelled hair. “It started...my senior year. All the articles that you’d help Isabelle out with, I’d print off, for memory’s sake.”

Kurt frowned. “Wait, even after we--”

“Yes,” Blaine nodded. “And...I kept doing it. Even though most of it is stored online, there was just always something comforting to me that I could have your complete works at my fingertips. It also let me know how you were doing.”

Kurt nodded, unsure of how he felt about the whole thing, and he was far clearer on the ache that he felt because all that time Blaine had been able to keep up on him and he had, whereas Kurt had been left completely in the dark about Blaine’s life.

Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d looked. 

“Did you have another question, Kurt?” Blaine hedged, blinking at him.

Kurt swallowed, unsure how to actually phrase his question because he wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking. “I just--I was wondering. Um, about you. I know...” he sighed, looking down at his feet. Not in a meek way, just a way for him to gather his thoughts and ramble nonchalantly without actually having to look Blaine in the eye. “I know a lot of time has passed between us and it’s pretty presumptuous to even ask but...I mean, the way that we left off between us was so abrupt and emotions were high and then immediate separation and...okay, I swear I have a point, I was just trying to ask if, before we lost contact the way we did--I mean, obviously we’ve both changed so much, it’s been ten years, but do you--”

“Yes,” Blaine said evenly.

Kurt looked back up at him sharply. “I didn’t ask you a question.”

“You didn’t need to,” Blaine said in that smiling way of his where his eyes made Kurt hurt. “Yes, I still love you, Kurt.”

The breath came rushing out of Kurt as his shoulders sagged slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And when was I supposed to tell you?” Blaine asked gently. It was his turn to look down then. “Kurt...despite what romance movies would have the general population believe, I didn’t swoop into town to crash your wedding just as the preacher asks for anyone to speak now or forever hold their peace. I wasn’t going to make my feelings known when you had a fiance and a life that I hadn’t been a part of for a decade. 

“And when you needed a place to stay and I was unsure of your status with your fiance, I wasn’t going to make them known then either because you have your own issues to deal with. And I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.

“But most of all, we weren’t just a couple once, Kurt. We were friends. Best friends. And I wanted to be there for you as a friend.”

The words washed over Kurt, but only a scant few stuck to his brain. “Why did you?” he whispered.

“Why did I what?”

“Why did you come back to town?” Kurt asked, licking his lips. “After all these years and right at this time, why did you come back?”

Blaine’s eyes were large and sad even though he was smiling. “For you, of course.”

Kurt was silent as Blaine turned him to face over the ledge.

Blaine pointed out across the park. “Do you see that little blue green light?”

Kurt squinted, looking through the dark until he saw the faint pale blue green light, just across the park to the East Side. “Yes.”

“That’s your apartment building,” Blaine said softly. “A week after I got here, I kept staring at that light across the park, and I finally looked up the building one day. I went over to it to find it, and just like that, you walked out of it. You looked so beautiful. Even more beautiful then when we were eighteen. You slid into a town car and took off down Park Avenue.”

Blaine sighed, leaning his forehead along the side of Kurt’s head, his breath ghosting into his ear. “I had no idea if you’d even want to see me. You could’ve grown to hate me over the past ten years.”

Kurt stared at the light across the park, tears welling up in his eyes.

“So I started throwing parties,” Blaine said quietly, but oh-so-loud in Kurt’s ear. “Every weekend. Lavishly themed and elegant. I bought up as much property as I could in this building. Payed off the neighbors for the noise. They got bigger and bigger. The sort of parties that I knew that you’d love. It was silly, I know. And a fairytale pipe dream. But that didn’t stop me from throwing them with the hopes that one night you’d wander inside.”

Spending lots of money carelessly was something that the Blaine Kurt knew would never do. But...spending lots of money on something he thought that Kurt’d like was definitely something that the Blaine he knew would do.

“And then you did,” Blaine half chuckled, his voice tight. “I...I never thought you actually would. But you were up here in the garden and it was like the stars had come out again after an endless night. And I...I was so happy.”

“You were wrong,” Kurt finally managed to say, unable to help the crack in his voice. He turned to face Blaine, blinking the wetness out of his eyes. “I could never hate you.”

“Kurt,” Blaine whispered, his eyebrows slanting in earnest and his eyes slightly green and then they were gone. Kurt cupped Blaine’s cheeks and crushed their lips together and Blaine’s hands went to his waist and held him tight as they gasped against each other’s lips. 

It was like breathing again.

***

The sheets were soft under his skin.

Kurt awoke the next morning to gentle, reverent kisses being carefully placed inconspicuously in the niches of his collarbones, sealed with smiles. Kurt smiled as he twisted in the sheets, blinking his eyes open to see Blaine’s too-close-and-out-of-focus face above him, skin tone blurring into the white of his smile. 

“Good morning,” Blaine whispered, leaning down for a kiss.

Kurt kissed him back softly for a minute. “Good morning,” he replied, sitting up, cream sheets spilling resplendently around him. There was something about sleeping naked in perfectly silky sheets that was just so luxuriously attractive.

Blaine followed him up, resting his chin heavily on Kurt’s shoulder. “What would you like to do today?”

Kurt turned to Blaine and took in his messy appearance, knowing that he was a mirror image. “I just want to lay here with you all day.”

Blaine smiled at him as he wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him back down to the bed.

***

There was something so classically perfect about Blaine and the way he was formed and the way he fit into Kurt so perfectly that it hurt. 

At some point in the next night, Kurt was lying with his head on Blaine’s chest and staring at the fluttering pale curtains against the window, his eyes flickering lazily back and forth. “I wish that I’d done everything in the world with you,” he whispered, the confession escaping in a sigh.

Blaine’s arms tightened around him and a finger came down to tilt his face up. “There’s still time for that.”

“No,” Kurt whispered, shaking his head softly. “There are some things that I can’t go back and change. You can’t repeat the past, Blaine.”

“Can’t repeat that past?” Blaine chuckled quietly. “Why of course you can. Really Kurt, what is history if not a repeat of the past?”

Kurt propped his chin up on Blaine’s chest. “Hopefully an improvement upon it.”

***

It was a terrible thing, but life had to happen. 

Kurt received an email from Isabelle, informing him that if he didn’t touch base, then Vogue.com might be short one writer. He called her immediately, apologizing for personal issues that had to be dealt with. She excused him because in the ten years he’d been working for Vogue.com, the only personal days that he’d taken had be specifically ordered by her. 

Unfortunately, to make up for his absence, she put him down as one of the supervisors for the New York City Ballet Gala.

***

“The ballet?” Blaine questioned over honeyed grapefruit. “This Friday?”

Kurt nodded. “Prokofiev’s Romeo et Juliette. It’s pretty awesome, actually. The costumes are amazing. I saw it six years ago.”

Blaine contemplated. “Well I mean, it is seven blocks away.”

Kurt looked down at his plate. “The thing is...Nathan will be there. I mean, he always attends the gala each year because his department sends him as a representative.”

Blaine set his spoon down gently. “Do you not want me to come?”

“No!” Kurt said immediately. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean...tensions will be high and the press will be there and...” He sighed. “I’m just...not entirely sure what to do about it.”

Blaine set his plate over on the bedside table. “Whatever you do decide, I want to be there for you.”

Kurt smiled gratefully. “Thank you. That does help.”

“Come on,” Blaine smiled, pulling Kurt off the bed. “Let’s pick out outfits.”

***

The night of the gala was extremely clear and fresh and Kurt felt a twinge of nerves as he slid into the backseat of Blaine’s fashion yellow car. They’d both decided on white, though Kurt opted for a pale gold jacket to match Blaine’s vest. 

The gala was in full swing by the time that they arrived and Kurt’s nerves sparked into an all time high before he put on his professional face and waded through the press to find Isabelle. 

She was wearing a floaty lavender dress and looked utterly relieved to see him. “Kurt! There you are. It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” he said, hugging her as he put on a smile. “And this is--” he turned to Blaine, suddenly unsure as to how to introduce him. “--Blaine Anderson. But I’m sure you know him already.”

“Of course, Mr. Anderson,” Isabelle smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you. Now and then.”

She had been one of the few sources of advice that came to Kurt’s tumultuous relationship with Blaine when he’d first come to New York.

“Likewise,” Blaine said warmly. 

“You’ll be in the top box, Kurt,” Isabelle said, looking down at her schedule. “And there should only be two others in there with you, so you shouldn’t be too cramped. Just take the rounds for twenty minutes and then you can head up.”

Kurt nodded, going into work mode.

***

Their box was as lavish as to be expected at the ballet and Kurt looked out over the stage eagerly, feeling the familiar excitement. 

As he walked to the edge, he idly remembered the first gala for the ballet that he’d helped out with, along with Santana and Rachel. It had seemed so magical and new and yet also reminiscent of his childhood.

“Did you ever take ballet when you were younger?” he asked suddenly, looking over at Blaine.

Blaine opened his mouth to answer when the curtain for the box moved aside.

It was Nathan, along with two of his coworkers.

Everything suddenly became very still, until Nathan was the one to break the silence, eyes darting over to Blaine.

“Anderson,” Nathan said, his voice too calm.

“Van der Geld,” Blaine replied a bit too easily.

Nathan turned. “Kurt.”

“Nathan,” Kurt returned. They both leaned forward and Kurt allowed a brief kiss on his cheek. 

Nathan took the seat behind Kurt. “Well this should be an interesting performance.”

Kurt sat stiffly next to Blaine as the tension in the box was nearly palpable as the overture swept through the audience. He sat perfectly still through the first act, watching Maillot’s choreography as the Montagues in white combated the Capulets in black and the lovestruck Romeo falling instantly for the golden Juliette. 

The music and visuals started to blur together though as he felt the dual distracted attentions on him.

***

Quinn, thankfully, intervened at intermission. 

She was the 30s now, looking like a silver screen star in a sleek green gown, her blonde hair curled and pinned at the nape of her neck. And on her arm was...

“Santana?” Kurt started in surprise as the two goddesses entered into their box, the latter in a rich wine red gown that made even Kurt ache. He raised an eyebrow at the two. “Really? You two?”

“Old habits die hard,” Santana shrugged, leaning over to give Quinn a matte lipstick kiss on the cheek. He eyes roamed over to Blaine, eyebrows shooting up. “Well if it isn’t Mr. Schue’s and Miss Pillsbury’s failed wedding all over again.”

“Good to see you too, Santana,” Blaine said evenly, kissing her on the cheek.

“We’re having a little get together at my place afterwards,” Quinn plowed on. “And we were wondering if you all wanted to come?” 

“Oh,” Kurt bit his lip. “I--”

“I think that would be wonderful,” Nathan cut across standing. “Don’t you agree Anderson?”

Don’t take the bait don’t take the bait don’t take the bait--

“Quite wonderful,” Blaine said with that congenial smile of his that only Kurt could recognize the threat in.

And that was how they ended up in Quinn’s apartment, just south of the Park, reclining in her sitting room as they all stiltedly drank their vodkas. 

Santana brought up the ballet, which Kurt eagerly latched onto, and they managed to animatedly fill the silence for twenty minutes with Quinn and Blaine occasionally adding a comment in here or there, before the quiet creeped in again.

The five sat in the stylish lounge as the oppressive silence grew.

“I thought that the story was interesting,” Nathan said conversationally. “It gave me a lot to think about.”

“Yes, it’s so new and current, not like we all read it in high school,” Blaine commented dryly.

“Well it was a very fresh retelling,” Quinn saved quickly, as tensions rose in the room. 

“Never did like Romeo much,” Nathan shrugged. “He’s fickle beyond belief and then goes after the first pretty girl he sees, regardless of her family status or that she’s engaged or the fact that they simply aren’t meant to be. It barely lasts and they end up dead with a host of their kinsmen.” 

“Yes well, I think that Shakespeare’s point of the original story wasn’t about love between adolescents,” Blaine shot back icily. “I think it was more on the fissure between the two sides and how a mere dispute could bring up so much violence and anger. I’m sure you’re aware of the hazards of violence and anger.”

“Blaine!” Kurt snapped, cutting his eyes to see everyone’s reaction.

“No, he has a point,” Nathan continued, eyes glued to Blaine. “But I also think that there’s something to be said about each character and the commentary that Shakespeare has about society in general. Romeo, for instance, uses subterfuge to get into the Capulet party, as if he actually belongs there when clearly he doesn’t. Tybalt recognizes that immediately once he’s de-masked. Then again, I think you know all about using subterfuge to get into circles you don’t belong in. Remind me again how you made your fortune?”

“Nathan!” Kurt turned, eyes widening, but they carried on, like Kurt, Quinn, and Santana weren’t even in the room. 

“International business.”

“Including art theft?”

Blaine went silent and Kurt looked over at him. “What?”

“How do you think he got his fortune, Kurt?” Nathan turned to him, that vein in his forehead that only appeared when he was mad suddenly throbbing an ugly pinkish purple. “No one comes up with money that quickly unless they’re dabbling in illicit activities! I thought I recognized that ridiculous ostentatious fountain when we went to visit and that’s because it’s from Florence. It went missing four years ago. It was around that time for a year and a half that a number of famous bits of art and architecture went missing all across Europe.” He turned back to Blaine, disdain dripping from every syllable. “Is there anything you own that hasn’t been pilfered or stolen?”

“Shut up,” Blaine said quietly.

“And honestly, Kurt,” Nathan rounded on him, the room feeling oddly claustrophobic. “Yes, I made a mistake, and yes, it was wrong of me, but let’s not pretend that it happened out of the blue. You lied to me for days about Blaine and your relationship with him. Honestly, what was I supposed to think? And then you ran off to him and I don’t hear from you for weeks because you’ve been locked up in his apartments!” 

Kurt took a step back, unwilling to meet his eyes as _Blaine’s_ words echoed through his ears. 

_“Yes, I hurt you and yes, I’ve apologized endlessly about it. But don’t for a second pretend that our relationship was ruined only by me. I may have pulled the trigger, but we both loaded the gun.”_

“Are you really going to make you hitting him seem like his fault?” Blaine snapped, grabbing Nathan’s arm roughly. “He’s in no way responsible for your actions!”

“But he’s responsible for his and how they reflect upon both of us! And gallivanting around the island with some criminal like you reflects badly not only on him but on me, and if you really cared about him, you’d be able to recognize that!”

Kurt had been looking the other way so he didn’t see who hit who first, but the next thing he knew, Quinn was pulling at Blaine and Santana was yanking Nathan away and everything was confusing, so Kurt just yelled, “Stop!”

Everyone froze as a glass fell to the floor, smashing with a soft chime. 

The reverberation of noise offered Kurt at least a small modicum of clarity. 

While yes, a portion of this had been Nathan’s fault, Kurt has also fallen into a pattern. The two most substantial relationships of his life had been ruined because of a lack of communication and basic understanding, which had always caused things to spiral out of control. 

And so he knew what he had to do. 

“Nathan,” he said quietly. “Go get the car ready.”

“Kurt,” Blaine said, utter disbelief falling from the single word, but Nathan straightened, Santana releasing him, as he nodded to Kurt and left. 

Blaine broke out of Quinn’s hold, walking over to Kurt. “Kurt, you can’t actually be considering--”

“We need to talk,” Kurt said evenly, looking up into Blaine’s eyes at last. “I can’t let things just fester the way they have been and I need to figure out the state of mine and Nathan’s relationship.” 

“But--”

“Blaine,” Kurt sighed, wrapping his arms around him. “You know how this’ll go down if I don’t. I can’t repeat the past, Blaine.”

And with that, Blaine’s shoulder’s sank and Kurt gave him a kiss on the cheek before walking out of Quinn’s apartment and down to Nathan. 

***

They ended up not canceling the engagement. 

Counseling was mandatory--Kurt had demanded it. Every week they went to a couples’ counselor and hashed out their differences. Nathan went to anger management as well.

Things weren’t perfect, but they were better at expressing their feelings towards each other as well as alerting the other to frustrations.  

After a month and a half it was almost like when they’d first met. And it was then that they had the conversation.

They sat across from each other in their living room. Kurt was wearing gray. Nathan was wearing khaki. 

They talked for three solid hours. 

And they decided to stick with the wedding.

***

Preparations went by quickly. They decided that sooner rather than later would be better.

They invited everyone and it looked to be the island event of the new millennium. 

Kurt sent an invitation to Blaine out of courtesy, but he received no reply.

He also hadn’t been seeing lights across the park every weekend like he had before.

He did his best to put it out of sight and out of mind. 

***

The big day dawned bright and chilly. Kurt was at the church early, making sure everything was ready. 

He sat in front of his mirror and arranged his hair neatly as his iPod blared music through his dressing room.

_New York, I love you. But you’re bringing me down._

_New York, I love you. But you’re bringing me down._

He wasn’t entirely sure why his stomach was in knots or why he felt a sense of foreboding deep in his bones. But most of all, he knew that it was a feeling that he’d felt so long that he wasn’t entirely sure he could pinpoint its origin. 

_Like a rat in a cage, pulling minimum wage._

_New York, I love you. But you’re bringing me down._

And a thought occurred to him. He was wrong. He could trace it back to its origin.

_New York, you’re safer, and you’re wasting my time._

_Our records all show you are filthy but fine._

New York had been exciting for him at a time. When he was a junior and eating breakfast outside of Tiffany’s with Rachel, and they gabbed about how they’d move to their dream city. 

_But they shuttered your stores when you opened your doors_

_To the cops who were bored once they’d run out of crime._

**_“And I talked to Blaine and he’s on board as well.”_ **

_New York, you’re perfect, oh please don’t change a thing._

_Your mild billionaire mayor’s now convinced he’s a king._

They were going to do it. They were going to take the world. 

It was supposed to have been perfect.

_So the boring collect, I mean all disrespect_

_To the neighborhood bars I’d once dreamt I would drink._

But there’d been setbacks. Blaine was a year behind so they’d had to wait. Then the whole NYADA fiasco. Then Kurt had no reason to go to the big city and Rachel had every reason.

_New York, I love you. But you’re freaking me out._

_New York, I love you. But you’re freaking me out._

So Kurt had stayed home, working jobs and supporting Blaine. But Blaine had noticed how stuck he’d been and encouraged him to go and have his own New York dream. 

And Kurt had. And it had been wonderful.

Until it wasn’t. Because he and Blaine ended.

_Like a death in the hall that you hear through your wall._

_New York, I love you. But you’re freaking me out._

And for eight months it was unsure of where they stood. But Blaine still had plans for New York and Kurt could still see those plans eventually coinciding with his and given time, he could see their plans intertwining again.

_New York, I love you, but you’re bringing me down._

Until Oxford. Until Blaine’s plans had nothing to do with New York. 

_New York, I love you, but you’re bringing me down._  

And ten years later, he’d spent eleven years of his life in a city that he didn’t hate and that he definitely did still love, but was also utterly depressed by. 

_Like a death of the heart._

Everything had seemed so bright his first visit to the city.

_Jesus, where do I start?_

But since then...

“Kurt, the staff will be arriving soon--”

“I can’t.”

Nathan blinked at him, looking utterly devastating in his white wedding suit. “What?”

“I...” Kurt blinked. “I can’t get married to you today.” 

_But you’re still the one pool where I’d happily drown._

***

Kurt sat in the wreckage of what was supposedly supposed to be the happiest day of his life. 

_“I’m sorry, I...I can’t.”_

_“Kurt, what--”_

_“It’s not you, god it’s not, it’s just...I can’t. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep...living like this and dragging other people down because I can’t figure myself out.”_

_“And you’re bringing this up now?”_

_“Nathan, think about it. We’d end up utterly miserable in the long run. I’m not saying that we have to...break off contact or anything drastic like that, I’m just saying that I need to work on myself and figure myself out before I can commit to something this big.”_

_“Look, can’t we talk about this after the wedding?”_

_“No! You’re not listening to me! I’m saying that there can’t be a wedding!”_

_“Kurt--”_

_“I’m sorry, I just...I can’t. Look, there’s still time, we can just tell people that we’ve decided to postpone, and we’ll--”_

_“Postpone? Are you insane? Do you know how many people I’ve invited to this?”_

_“Nathan--”_

_“No, listen here, Kurt. I’ve been through you running off to Anderson, I’ve been through all the counseling that you’ve wanted, and if you think you’re going to take this day from me--”_

_“That’s not what I’m trying to do! I’m trying to tell you, as your fiance, that I’m not ready!”_

_“But we’re not fiances anymore! Because you don’t want to be!”_

_“That’s not what I said--”_

_And then Nathan had started wrecking things._

Hours passed, and still no one, though he did hear the paparazzi outside. 

Kurt just looked around at the ruined wedding decorations, flowers strewn everywhere. Nathan had destroyed everything, and then he’d called everyone, telling them that Kurt had backed out. 

The papers had caught wind of it and the masses were outside waiting to hear Kurt’s side. 

No one from the wedding party had shown up, and the guards outside were only letting people in with invitations. 

But no one came.

Until one did.

And really, he should have known.

“Hello, Kurt.”

Kurt glanced up at Blaine who was standing next to the pew, eyes sad. “How did...” he eyes drifted down to Blaine’s hand, which was holding the invitation that Kurt had sent him. “Ah.”

“Do you want to leave?” Blaine asked gently.

Kurt looked back at the beautiful cathedral that was painted with disaster. “I...I don’t know.”

“Kurt--”

“I thought he’d understand,” Kurt whispered. “It...I tried to let him know that it wasn’t his fault, that I needed to work on myself and really figure out what I needed for myself so that our marriage wouldn’t end terribly. I thought he’d understand that.”

“Kurt, it’s not your fault--”

“I thought it was always my fault,” Kurt said, looking over at Blaine. “I mean, not wholly, but I do contribute, right?”

“Kurt, you try to do the right thing,” Blaine said urgently, kneeling down in front of him. “And you did, you did do the right thing. If you weren’t sure then you shouldn’t have gone along with it. And you did try to make it work with him. As much as I hated it, you were right to go back and try and make it work and that was courageous and your own decision.”

“I did try to make it work,” Kurt said faintly, nodding. “I tried so hard...I threw myself into the wedding and did everything...” He looked back down. “I...I’d finally picked out a song for us to dance to, but now it’s all gone to waste...”

“Kurt,” Blaine said firmly, touching Kurt’s cheek softly. “What do you want? Just...tell me, please.”

“I want...I still want to dance to it,” Kurt said quietly. “I just...please?”

“Okay,” Blaine nodded. 

Kurt stood, walking over to the sound system and played the first dance track. 

The sound of a single piano filled the air as Kurt walked back to Blaine and they eased into the classic slow dance position as Nat King Cole’s voice poured over them.

_Unforgettable, that’s what you are..._

Kurt crowded close to Blaine as the song played on. “This was supposed to by my big day.”

Blaine was silent. 

_Unforgettable, though near or far..._

“I always said that I’d marry by thirty. Now look at me. The only man who wanted to marry me wrecked our wedding.”

_Like a song of love that clings to me..._

“He wasn’t the only one,” Blaine murmured. 

_How the thought of you does things to me..._

Kurt sighed. “I know we had talked about--”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Blaine said quietly. “When...our big fight that we had after Regionals my senior year. I’d asked you to come over for a surprise, remember?”

_Never before has someone been more..._

“Yeah,” Kurt said quietly. “Though that had been sort of pushed aside in light of Oxford.”

_Unforgettable in every way_

Blaine sighed, pulling Kurt in closer. “I never wanted to go to Oxford, Kurt.”

_And forevermore that’s how you’ll stay_

Kurt tilted his head back, looking at Blaine. “Then why didn’t you just say that? Why did you end up going if--”

_That’s why darling, it’s incredible_

“I had a...gamble with my father. He’d found out about something...well, really expensive that I’d bought and so he gave me an ultimatum between NYADA and Oxford.”

_That someone so unforgettable_

“But what does this have to do with mar--” Kurt cut himself off as his eyes widened. “No, _Blaine_ \--” 

_Thinks that I am unforgettable too._

“I’d gotten an engagement ring,” Blaine murmured. “And he found out. He told me that if you said yes, then I could go to NYADA and New York and do everything that I wanted to, but if you said no, then I’d go to Oxford. I’d...decorated my room up with candles to propose. That’s why I invited you over.”

_No, never before has someone been more_

Kurt buried his face into the crook of Blaine’s neck and for all the mistakes that he’d done in his life, for all the bad choices, if he could go back and fix only one, it would be to never have looked at Blaine’s mail while he waited for him to come back.

_Unforgettable in every way_

Because he knew what would have happened had he not. It would’ve been just like when he’d come to the city with Rachel when they were juniors. They’d have ended up married and probably would have been talking about kids at this point, living out their dreams.

_And forevermore that’s how you’ll stay_

“I would have said yes,” Kurt murmured softly. “If you’d actually gotten the chance to ask.”

_That’s why darling it’s incredible_

Blaine just squeezed him tighter, letting out a long breath. 

_That someone so unforgettable_

“Can we run away, Blaine?” Kurt whispered. “Please?”

_Thinks that I am unforgettable too._

“Of course we can, Kurt,” Blaine said quietly. “Let’s run away and never look back.”

Bursting from the doors and cutting through paparazzi and squeezing into Blaine’s fashion yellow car, that is precisely what they did.


End file.
